


Critical Choices

by lilyseyes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Magical Bond, Minor Character Death, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-08
Updated: 2014-06-26
Packaged: 2018-02-06 07:17:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 41
Words: 178,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1849243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilyseyes/pseuds/lilyseyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Title: </b>Critical Choices<br/><b>Pairing: </b>HP/SS (eventually), RW/HG<br/><b>Rating: </b>R/NC-17 (Eventually)<br/><b>Warnings: </b>sexual content, minor violence, angst, character death, adult language<br/><b>Summary: </b>Post-HBP: Dumbledore said it was our choices that defined us, can Harry make the hard choices?<br/><b>Disclaimer: </b>Not mine - just borrowing them. They belong to the rich blonde.<br/><b>Beta:</b> asimplechord</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Critical Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Title:** Critical Choices  
>  **Chapter:** 1/?  
>  **Pairing:** HP/SS (eventually), RW/HG  
>  **Rating:** R/NC-17  
>  **Warnings:** sexual content, minor violence, angst, character death, adult language  
>  **Summary:** Post-HBP: Dumbledore said it was our choices that defined us, can Harry make the hard choices?  
>  **Disclaimer:** Not mine - just borrowing them. They belong to the rich blonde.  
>  **Beta:**

Sitting on his bed in the sixth year dorm, Harry looked around the room carefully, taking in every detail. He would like to come back for his seventh year, and hoped that the fates would eventually allow him to do so. In the meantime, he had to complete the quest Professor Dumbledore had started, ensuring that he could kill Voldemort when the time came. The Horcruxes were his first priority, along with the destruction of Voldemort; running a close third on his list was the tracking down and execution of Severus Snape.

Shaking off the heavy feeling that had once more descended on him, Harry stood up and closed his trunk. His wand lay on the bed along side a full black knapsack, and he patted his pocket to ensure that the invisibility cloak he had finally retrieved from the Astronomy Tower was secure.

“Kreacher! Dobby!”

The two house-elves popped into existence next to where Harry was standing. Kreacher, the same foul-looking thing with his dirty rags even filthier than usual, and Dobby, dressed in clean, bright layers of clothing and hats, glared at each other. Harry had no time for their disputes now, and cut across the two squeaky, indignant voices.

“Dobby, I think the Headmaster would have liked me to employ you now that he is…no longer around to do so. Is that alright with you?”

Mournful green tennis-ball eyes looked up at him for a moment, then the elf nodded, a tear slipping slowly down one cheek. “It is being what the Professor Dumbledore wished, Harry Potter.”

“Good,” Harry said with an attempt at a smile. “I need my trunk taken to Grimmauld Place and then I want you to find Professor Snape for me, Dobby. Secretly, of course.”

With another nod and a loud crack, Dobby and his trunk disappeared. Kreacher muttered under his breath, thankfully too low for Harry to hear him.

“Kreacher, where is Draco Malfoy now?” Harry stood over the diminutive creature, a perverse satisfaction at knowing he had turned the disgusting creature into an unwitting spy against the pure-blood family he wished were his masters.

“Young Master Malfoy, proper young wizard he is, enjoys the solitude of his room at the Malfoy Manor.”

“Very well, you will continue with the orders I gave you and monitor his every move, and report it to me. Is Snape still at the Manor with Malfoy?”

“No, the traitorous half-blood left this morning, to accompany He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed and rage surged through him at the house-elf’s bizarre phrasing. “Imagine that. Go back to Malfoy, Kreacher, and do not let him out of your sight.”

With a low bow, Kreacher disappeared with a crack, and Harry grabbed his wand off the bed. Stowing it in the holster that rested along his right forearm, he slung the knapsack over his shoulder and hurried to join the last of the students who were filing out of the castle towards the thestral-drawn carriages. Headmistress McGonagall stood at the top of the stone steps leading down from the great oak entrance doors, a look of sadness on her sharp features. 

“Potter,” she called, stepping out to stop him as Harry attempted to speed by. Her dark eyes took in his knapsack and Muggle clothing. “I am sorry you must return to your relatives again, but I assure you it will be a short visit. I will owl you with arrangements within a fortnight.”

Harry met the dark eyes and nodded, knowing full well he would not be anywhere near Privet Drive in two weeks. “I left Hedwig in the Owlery, Professor. You may use her if you would like to.” 

A thin hand patted him on the shoulder in an attempt to be reassuring, then Harry turned and continued on his way. He knew that the new Headmistress was still upset that he would not discuss with her what he and Professor Dumbledore had been doing on the night of the older wizard’s death. A mixture of sadness and rage flared in his chest as the scene in the Astronomy Tower played again in his mind for the thousandth time: the merciless black eyes, the flash of green, and Dumbledore slowly falling. Harry squeezed his eyes shut as he dove into an empty carriage, struggling to control the anger that he felt. He was quickly joined by Ron and Hermione, who didn’t disturb him while he tried to subdue his emotions. A small hand found its way into his, which was clenched at his side, and warmed him with just a touch. 

“Ginny,” Harry said with a smile, her closeness a comfort to his jangled emotions.

Snuggling against his side, they sat in silence, absorbing the strength each gave freely to the other. A special bond had been forged between the two in the Chamber of Secrets four years before, and Harry knew that he would always love the ginger-haired young woman. Whether he was in love with Ginny, Harry did not know, but he had decided now was not the time for such distraction. Ginny seemed to understand, and he knew that she would always be there when he needed her support and comfort.

The train ride to King’s Cross Station was a quiet one. Ron, Hermione, and Harry had already worked out their plans, and had no intentions of discussing them in the open. Only the three of them knew of the mission Albus Dumbledore had been on at the time of his death, only the three of them could finish what the Headmaster had started before Snape and Malfoy had conspired to murder him. After much discussion, Ron and Hermione had agreed they would each go to their respective homes for the first week of the summer holidays to tie up loose ends, and would then meet at Grimmauld Place. Harry felt guilty about dragging the others into the life and death struggle he knew this search would entail, but he also knew deep down that it was not a task he could accomplish on his own. 

The parting hugs at King’s Cross were fierce; the three of them remained wrapped in each other’s arms until Harry’s uncle grabbed him by the arm and dragged him across the pavement towards the car park. The ride from London was accomplished in silence. Harry felt no obligation to speak to the Dursleys, and sat in the back of the late model sedan immersed in his own thoughts. He was not sure how long Headmaster Dumbledore had originally wanted him to stay this summer, but if two weeks did it last summer, one week should be enough for this final visit. 

Standing in the sitting room of the comfortable home, Harry looked around, his face expressionless, before turning and walking toward the stairs.

“You get back here, boy!” Vernon Dursley boomed, his ruddy complexion going purple around the edges. “I think you have some explaining to do!”

Harry rounded on him, an expression of contempt on his face, and his uncle took a step back towards his wife and son, who were seated on the couch. 

“I do not have to explain anything to you,” the young wizard spat at him. “As Professor Dumbledore told you last summer, this is the last time we have to put up with each other. I don’t expect to be here more than a week, and will provide for myself. Leave me alone, and I will leave you alone.”

Turning, he started for the stairs, only to hear Dudley question his father.

“What about all that money he has, Dad, don’t we get any of that?”

Pointedly ignoring them, Harry made his way upstairs, and stepped into the musty room. Opening the window to allow some fresh air in to circulate, he decided that he was lucky it was warm today. There had been much speculation in the Daily Prophet in the past few months about the perpetual mist which had covered much of the country side for the past year, and the suggestion that it was the results of the Dementors breeding sent chills down Harry’s spine. Methodically, the teenager began to dust the shelves of broken toys and discarded books, making up the small cot with clean sheets, and generally making the room inhabitable. 

Although it was barely six in the evening, Harry toed off his trainers, whipped his shirt over his head, and dropped onto the bed clad only in a pair of shorts. A trip into Hogsmeade the last weekend of term had given him the opportunity to buy clothing that actually fit him, and he had gleefully binned all of Dudley’s old clothing. His relatives already knew he had a fortune, so there was no longer any reason to hide it, and Harry refused to be forced to wear the hideous, huge discards. Closing his eyes, his mind turned towards the two wizards that he hated above anyone else, Tom Riddle and Severus Snape. 

One thing that Dumbledore had managed to teach him in the last year was that the bastard could be killed, despite the extreme lengths he had gone to in order to ensure immortality. Harry knew that he would have to locate the other items that held portions of Voldemort’s soul, and Hermione had already deciphered the note he had found in the fake locket. Remembering the tapestry on the drawing room wall of Grimmauld Place, Harry was sure R.A.B. was Sirius’ brother, Regulus. Harry had realized that the best place to start looking for the locket of Slytherin was in the Black family home. 

The thought of Snape was enough to start the churning of acids in his stomach and to send many emotions swirling. When he closed his eyes, Harry could see again the moment that his lank-haired former professor had leveled his wand at Albus Dumbledore and killed him with no hesitation. Yet that same man was the one that Dumbledore had trusted above anyone else, maybe even more so than Harry himself. As far as the Headmaster had indicated, Snape was the only other one who knew about the Horcruxes; Snape had saved the elderly wizard’s life after he had found Gaunt’s ring, and was prepared to save it again when they returned with the locket. It was Snape that the Headmaster kept asking for until the end. Dumbledore had loved the man like a son, for Merlin’s sake!

Harry rolled over and buried his face in the flat pillow as he thought of how he had chased Malfoy and Snape out of the Astronomy Tower, and across the grounds. The Slytherin bastard had had plenty of opportunity to kill or at least seriously hurt him during his wild pursuit. Why hadn’t Snape killed him? He snorted, remembering the man’s insane insistence that HE was the Half-Blood Prince! If that were true, then Snape had known for months that he had that textbook, knew that it was the reason he had been doing so well at Potions year. Why had he not been persistent in confiscating it? That very book now rested in the bottom of his knapsack, charmed to look like a Quidditch magazine.

At some point, Harry drifted into a restless sleep, and nightmares plagued him as they had for years, generally consisting of jets of green spell-light killing someone he loved. It was in the steely gray light of pre-dawn that he awoke, stomach gnawing on itself with hunger. Sliding out of bed, Harry moved silently to the bathroom, where he showered quickly, brushed his teeth, and ran a hand over the faint stubble on his chin. It was not much, but each of the scraggily whiskers was his and he was proud of each one. Making his way back to his room, Harry dug out a nutrition potion that Hermione had brewed for him before they left Hogwarts, knowing the one thing that his relatives had complete control over was how much food he was allowed.

Taking advantage of the peaceful calm the dawn brought, Harry practiced clearing his mind and Occluding it, as he had learned from the books he had read obsessively over the past few weeks. The sudden quiet in his mind that had begun last June had relieved him at first, but as time went on, he had realized that Voldemort could invade it at any time he chose, unless Harry learned to protect himself. While even Dumbledore considered him a lost cause at shielding his mind, he knew he had never truly given it the attention and practice it required. When he came face to face with the evil wizard, or Snape for that matter, Harry needed to be able to protect himself from invasion.

A flash of golden flame startled Harry, and he rolled off the bed, wand jumping into his hand from the concealed holster. Soft notes of phoenix song reassured him, and Harry looked up to see Albus Dumbledore’s familiar on the rail at the end of the bed. The usually brilliant feathers were graying around the edges and Harry recognized that the bird was close to a burning day. Sliding back onto the bed, Harry was relieved when Fawkes fluttered down on to his shoulder, his fingers reaching to stroke the warm feathers. A piece of parchment dropped into Harry’s lap, and he stared at it until the Phoenix nudged him with his head. His fingers trembled as he picked up the paper and unsealed it, and his breath caught in his throat when he recognized the thin, slanting writing.

_Dear Harry,_

_I have just sent you to your dormitory for your invisibility cloak so that we may proceed with our mission. I do not believe that I will survive the gathering of this Horcrux tonight, Harry, and do not want you to blame yourself, no matter what happens in our search tonight. I am dying already from the effects of finding Gaunt’s ring. Had it not been for Professor Snape, I would have died that night. My death does not frighten me, Harry, nor does it mean you will be beyond the realm of my assistance in your mission. If everything goes according to my plans, I will die quickly, and at the hands on the one who has my absolute trust. I know you will have difficulty believing me, but I have left proof for you._

_You should be at Privet Drive when you receive this, and have fulfilled the terms I set for your protection._

_I have named you and one other as my heirs, and Fawkes has been instructed to take you directly to my home, which is now partly yours. There you will find the explanations that you seek, my boy, and I ask you to look at the proof before you take any action. I have also left you what information I have been able to gather on the locations of the remaining Horcruxes. It is my wish, if he allows it, that Fawkes become yours as well._

_Do you remember, Harry, after your second year when we spoke about the Sorting Hat’s wish to place you in Slytherin House? I told you then that it was the choices you made that defined your life. You are again facing some critical choices now, Harry. Please choose carefully._

_I am yours most sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

Hot, silent tears ran down his face as Harry folded the parchment and secured it in his knapsack, slinging one strap over his shoulder and hefting it onto his back. Grasping his wand tightly in his right hand, he reached up to stroke the phoenix with his left. 

“Take us to our new home, Fawkes,” he said quietly, his stomach clenching at the thought of who might be waiting.

A low trill of song filled the air, and a flash of fire and the feeling of flying washed over him. In seconds, Harry stood in the darkened entry of a large house. Fawkes released his shoulder and flew further down the hallway. Following the large bird, Harry passed through an archway into a large sitting room. A small fire burned in the fireplace, providing the only light in the room, and a figure sat hidden in the depths of a large leather wing-backed chair. Fawkes landed on his golden perch beside the chair and burst into flame, illuminating the pale face of the man sitting there.

Severus Snape.

* * *


	2. Critical Choices

The man slowly lifted his head. His lank black hair concealed most of his features, but the hooked nose was visible in the shadows cast by the fire. Harry tensed, his wand in his hand, pointed where the bastard’s heart would have been if he had one. Rage welled up in him, and he could feel the hatred twist his face into an ugly mask. The black eyes turned toward him slowly, devoid of their normal malicious gleam, looking more dead than alive, in a face that was as pale and empty as death itself. Harry could feel the words of the Killing Curse on the tip of his tongue. His hand trembled, but the wand it held was steady.

“The Gryffindor Golden Boy, and right on time for a change,” the ex-Potions master sneered, his uncharacteristically raspy voice holding only a faint echo of its usual sarcasm and loathing. “Do us both a favor, Potter, kill me quickly! Take the revenge you believe you so truly have a right to take. End my life as surely as I told Albus you would!”

Righteous indignation burned in his belly; the words hovered on Harry’s lips, begging to be spoken, and his magic swirled around him. His mouth was forming the first letter of the curse when Snape’s voice broke on the Headmaster’s name, and the Avada Kedavra died before his lips could give birth to it. Nothing the bastard could have said to Harry would have affected him like the agony and grief that had come forth with that name. Taking a deep breath, his wand never wavering, Harry met the onyx eyes without blinking.

“Why?”

The former professor blinked at him, as if his mind was unable to process the fact that he was still alive. The hollow, haunted eyes dropped, focusing on the tip of Harry’s wand, waiting for the jet of green spell-light. Harry took a step closer, his knapsack hitting the floor as he shrugged it off his shoulder, grabbing Dumbledore’s letter off the top and crumpling it in his fist. A sentence in the letter clenched tightly in his hand flashed through his mind: _There you will find the explanations that you seek, my boy, and I ask you to look at the proof before you take any action._

“Tell me why, you bastard!” 

Harry’s voice was deceptively calm, but he could not prevent some of his outrage from escaping, and the insult stung the Slytherin. The venom in the teenager’s tone brought Snape’s head up, and a spark of something gleamed in the depths of his eyes. 

“Will you feel better in killing me then, Potter? Do you need any further justifications for your lack of intestinal fortitude in order to…”

“He said,” Harry ground out between clenched teeth, his frayed nerves at the end of their tenuous hold on his temper, “Dumbledore said that you would explain to me why you…why you did it.”

The dark eyes widened a fraction. “He…he said what?”

Harry took another step toward the chair, his wand steady, and held the piece of parchment aloft in his left hand. “The letter I received this afternoon from Professor Dumbledore, the letter he wrote the night you…the night he died. It says that you would explain to me why you had to do what you did.”

“Give it to me…” 

Harry’s eyes flared with green fire at the harsh tone, and he cut off the older man’s words ruthlessly. “You are in no position to demand anything, Snape!” He gestured with his left hand. “I will let you read this, because Dumbledore said that I would find the one person he trusted above anyone else here in this house, the only other person who would be able to help me search for the Horcruxes. He said you could be trusted with his life and his death.”

Harry’s voice cracked, and he had to swallow the lump that had lodged in his throat before he could continue, “I would like you to hand over your wand, first.” 

“My wand is over there.” Snape pointed to a shelf that stood to one side of Fawkes’ perch, and Harry could see a dark colored wand lying beside a familiar looking Pensieve. Several vials of silver fluid sat beside it. 

The sight of the long, slender piece of wood lying so far from its owner made the meaning of Snape’s behavior clear. The older wizard wanted to die. He had expected Harry to kill him without hesitation, but had added the insult of being unarmed as he goaded Harry. A feeling of pity mixed with Harry’s already volatile temper, and the anger exploded in him. 

“You are a bastard, Snape. If you wanted to die so much, why didn’t you just kill yourself, you sniveling coward?”

The reaction was instantaneous; the older man leapt from the chair with an enraged roar and charged at the young Gryffindor. Even baby Fawkes twittered on his nest of ashes in response to the insult. Harry pivoted to one side and neatly sidestepped Snape, who stumbled and fell to his knees, his long, black hair once again obscuring his face. He made no effort to rise, and Harry stayed just out of arms reach, watching. Snape’s actions were not those of a man celebrating a murder, but of someone consumed with guilt and grieving for a loved one. Something Harry did not understand hovered between them, something so strong that Harry slowly lowered his wand to study the submissive posture of the kneeling man before him.

“You can’t, can you?” Harry’s question was really a statement. The older wizard did not move, and something else flashed through his mind. “And you can’t hurt me, either, can you?’

“No.”

In his contemplation of the Pensieve sitting on the shelf, Harry almost missed the hoarse whisper. Sliding his wand back into the holster in his sleeve, he walked across the room, and picked up the shallow stone bowl. Setting it on the low table next to the chair Snape had occupied, he moved back to examine the small row of vials set on the shelf. In one of these flasks, there was stored the memory that would explain what had happened that terrible night in the Astronomy tower. Looking over the six bottles, he concentrated on the silvery filaments that slowly swirled inside, reaching out finally to pluck the vial farthest to the left off the shelf. He left Snape’s wand untouched beside the other bottles.

Pouring the strand into the dark, swirling liquid, Harry turned to the black-robed figure still collapsed on the floor, surprised at how much effort it took to speak to the man in a civil tone. 

“I believe the Headmaster wished us to view these together.”

The Slytherin got up from the floor slowly, his dark eyes taking in the absence of a wand in Harry’s hand as he took the steps necessary to stand beside the teenager. Harry reached out and grasped the surprisingly thin arm through the black robes, then leaned into the swirling liquid. Then he was falling, dragging Snape by his arm, and they landed in Albus Dumbledore’s office at Hogwarts, beside the Headmaster’s large wooden desk. Harry’s breath caught in his chest as he looked at a slightly younger, vibrant Headmaster, who was studying a piece of parchment in front of him.

A knock sounded at the oak door, and the clear blue eyes looked up. 

“Come in.”

Minerva McGonagall, dressed in a green tartan dressing gown, stepped into the room, followed by a stooped person cloaked in black, hood pulled up to obscure their face. “I’m sorry to bother you, Dumbledore, but I found this young man on the entrance steps, pounding on the doors.”

The Headmaster waved off her concern. “It’s quite all right, Minerva, I will speak to the young man.”

With misgiving clearly written on her face, the witch nodded and left, closing the door quietly behind her. Albus Dumbledore stood up, and gestured towards the chair in front him. “Sit down, Mister Snape. Can I get you some tea?”

The cloaked figure straightened with difficulty and pushed the hood back from his face with a trembling hand. Harry gasped as the pale face emerged, bloodied and bruised, the nose swollen and obviously broken. He shot a look at his companion, whose eyes were glued to the tall, elderly wizard in front of them, his anguish clear to anyone who looked. The younger Snape continued to stand stiffly.

“I have been sent to you, Professor Dumbledore, to seek a position on the Hogwarts staff.”

The clear blue eyes continued to study the younger wizard as Dumbledore seated himself behind the desk again. “The last time we met was almost a year ago, Severus. You were also seeking employment from me, and ended up being thrown out of the Hog’s Head for listening at doors.”

The dark eyes closed and the figure swayed slightly. “Yes, the Dark Lord was not pleased by my clumsy efforts that night.”

“And yet he sends you back to Hogwarts.”

The younger Snape buried his face briefly in his hands, the palms already bloody. “Your reputation for giving second chances is well known. The Dark Lord believes that if you think I am sincere about being redeemed, you will accept me.”

“And are you, Mister Snape?”

The obsidian eyes seemed to come to life as the Death Eater took a step forward. “Yes. Dumbledore, I am both sincere and willing to try again, if you will accord me the opportunity. I have no interest in serving a megalomaniac who is turning himself into something less than human in his quest for immortality! I have no desire to track down and murder infants because they may one day grow powerful enough to be a danger to the bastard. I am tired of the rape and torture and killing in the name of blood purity, when the hypocritical bastard is a half-blood, just as I am!” 

“Tom is going after infants, now? Because of the prophecy you took to him?”

“Yes,” Snape whispered, shame coloring the word.

“You were beaten and cursed before you were sent here, if I am not mistaken. Was that also part of the ploy?”

“Partly, yes.” Snape met the sharp blue eyes. “And partly because I offered my opinion on hunting down James and Lily Potter.”

The Headmaster stood and moved around the desk, conjuring up a tea tray with a flick of his wand. Gesturing again at the plush chair in front of his desk, the professor waited silently as the young man stiffly seated himself, but refused a cup of tea. Dumbledore moved to where the scarlet and gold phoenix sat preening on his perch; the bird’s sharp eyes never left the black-clad figure, even when his master stroked his head.

“Lord Voldemort has sent you to me, hoping that I will listen to your words of discontent, believe that you have good left in your soul, and hire you to teach children. In turn, you will spy on me and report back to him everything that goes on here at Hogwarts.”

“Those are my instructions, Professor.”

“Is telling me this part of your plan to win my trust, Severus?” Dumbledore asked him quietly.

“No, sir, I was to tell you that I had no stomach for killing Muggles and Muggle-borns, and that if I did not seek your protection, the Dark Lord would kill me. What I have told you is the truth. I do ask your protection, Headmaster, but I also ask for your help in escaping from a very bad choice on my part. I realize I will be marked for death by the Dark Lord and his supporters, but I cannot go on any longer.”

Harry was surprised by the expressiveness in the young, battered face, so very different from the mask worn by the older version that stood silently beside him. The desperation in the dark eyes and the haunted quality to his expression led Harry to believe that Snape was being truthful, or he was a very good actor.

“And if I turn you away, what will you do then?”

The shoulders slumped in their black robes, and the young man seemed to collapse in on himself. “There will be no other options available to me, Headmaster. I will leave, and do what I should have done a year ago. I will not bother you or anyone else again.”

Dumbledore held his hand palm out as Snape started to stand, a silent gesture that kept the younger wizard in his seat. 

“I do not believe taking your own life will solve anything, Severus.” 

The Headmaster studied the seated figure a moment longer before walking back to lean on the front of his desk. “What if I agree to give you both my protection and a position here at Hogwarts, Mister Snape, but ask you to continue to play your role with Voldemort? Would you be willing to obtain information on his activities and provide that to me in exchange for my protection?”

The onyx eyes locked with the clear blue and, again Harry was amazed by the play of emotions that flitted across the young face. A hand touched the back of his own lightly, and Harry loosened the death grip he only now realized he held the older Snape’s arm in. The older wizard refused to look at Harry or his younger self, his eyes never leaving the figure of his mentor, and Harry was sure Snape had no idea that tears coursed down his face.

“Yes, Headmaster, I would be willing to do anything I can to prove to you that I am worthy of your trust, but I am not sure I have the skills necessary to be a spy. I have already given away that the Potter child will no doubt be a powerful wizard if he has inherited his mother’s gifts!” Snape’s voice was harsh, his anger directed inward. “There is also the fact that the choice I made at sixteen is no secret to anyone who knows me, Professor; that might be an obstacle to getting my appointment as a teacher past the Board of Governors.”

“I have not forgotten that Lily Evans was a friend to you, Severus, nor would I send you back to Tom Riddle without making sure you have the proper skills. As I recall, you were already accomplished at Occlumency before you left Hogwarts, but I think I may be able to teach you to further protect yourself.” The powerful wizard stood and studied the younger man’s face. “Lucius Malfoy’s presence on the Board is sure to be utilized by Voldemort as well, so I believe your concerns about the appointment are unfounded.”

Albus Dumbledore paced the length of the room, his brow furrowed in thought. “In order that there never be any doubt, Severus, would you be willing to swear a Vow of Fidelity to me?”

The younger man looked up. “What would such a vow entail, sir?”

“A Vow of Fidelity, Severus, declaring your loyalty to me, would make it impossible for you to lie to me, or to do anything I would not approve of, and prevent you from refusing to do anything I ask of you. To do so would cause your death. It is a vow that will bind you until the day you die, and, for your own protection, you will never be able to tell anyone about it. It would also supersede any other vow you have made or will make in the future, bound as you will be to the power of Light.”

The younger wizard nodded and stood up. “Who will serve to witness the vow, Professor?”

Albus Dumbledore smiled gently. “I believe that Fawkes would be a suitable choice, my boy. There is one other thing, Severus...I would like you to swear the same loyalty to the infant you have indicated that Voldemort will try to murder, Harry Potter.”

Apprehension and understanding flitted over the man’s face, but he nodded in agreement and moved to stand next to the Headmaster. Dumbledore clasped both Snape’s hands in between his, and the phoenix flew from his perch and settled on them. A golden ribbon appeared and twined around the hands, and Fawkes trilled softly as the two men proceeded to make their vows. Albus Dumbledore promised his protection and support, while Severus Snape pledged his loyalty to the Headmaster and an infant boy he’d never seen. As the ribbon of light was absorbed into the very skin of the two men, the scene began to dissolve, and Harry knew it was time to go. He pulled on Snape’s arm, indicating that it was time to leave this memory.

Landing back in the sitting room of the house, he immediately released Snape, who stumbled over to the chair and collapsed into it. Harry watched him idly, his mind reeling with images of incidents and actions involving the Potions master that had happened over the past six years. This new information helped explain many things to Harry, although it presented new questions as well. His eyes ran over the slumped figure in the chair, and Harry was surprised to find sympathy mingled with the hatred and angry coursing through him, especially when he remembered that Snape’s vow of loyalty was still in place. 

The fire flared in the fireplace as a log shifted, but it was enough to catch Harry’s attention, and he turned to stare at the portrait of the Headmaster, who sat slumbering in a chair identical to the one Snape currently occupied. Suddenly, it dawned on him that just as Snape was bound by the vow he made, Harry was honor bound to uphold the oath Albus Dumbledore had sworn almost sixteen years ago to protect the former Death Eater. 

Silently, Harry acknowledged and accepted the duty left to him. As he did, a ribbon of golden light appeared, wrapping around his hand. It extended around the clasped hands of Severus Snape, then around the twittering form of the baby Fawkes, and joined back at Harry’s hand in a complete circle. Snape looked up at him, disbelief on his pale face as the ribbon was absorbed into their skins. A movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention, and Harry turned his head to see a pair of twinkling blue eyes peering at him over the top of half-moon spectacles, and a smile on the face of Albus Dumbledore.

“Well done, Harry, well done.”


	3. Truths and Vows

“My portrait was charmed to animate when you accepted the truth about Severus and his role as a spy. Your acceptance of the Vow has allowed this to happen, my boy.”

The face of Albus Dumbledore smiled down at him from his portrait above the fireplace. The breath caught in Harry’s chest and hurt as it tried to fight its way out as a sob. Tears welled up and flooded his eyes, obscuring his vision. Harry blinked rapidly to clear them, so that he could meet the gaze of the bright blue eyes.

“Professor, I am so sorry,” he blurted out, thinking about the useless locket that had indirectly led to the Headmaster’s death, which rested at the bottom of his knapsack. 

“It’s all right, Harry, I made Severus…”

At the sound of his name, the former professor seemed to realize what had happened. An inhuman sound ripped from his throat as he sprang out of the chair and staggered to the fireplace.

“Albus?” Equal parts rage and remorse colored the name, and Harry could feel the older man’s agony as braced his hands on the mantel below the portrait.

The blue eyes saddened as they took in the pale, ravaged face of Severus Snape. Snape’s hollow, red-rimmed eyes looked imploringly up at the portrait of the man he had killed.

“Severus, I am so sorry I had to put you through this, but you knew it had to be done. The Unbreakable Vow gave you a way to turn my death to your benefit, did it not?”

“Yes,” Snape sneered, an odd hiccup in his voice. “The Dark Lord was simply _delighted_ that I stepped in to finish what Draco could not, and even more delighted that I, who he has long suspected as a spy, have shown my true allegiance. That did not, of course, prevent him from torturing me for not forcing Draco to finish the deed.” 

The Headmaster looked anxious, taking in the Slytherin’s haunted look. “Are you all right, Severus?” he asked gently.

The black-robed man made an attempt to stand straight and sneer at the portrait, but another funny little hiccup spoiled the affect. Harry watched the interaction between the two, his eyes ping-ponging back and forth. Something unthinkable had happened that night in the Astronomy Tower, and he was beginning to get the impression that Snape had been manipulated into the whole horrid thing. A memory tickled at the back of his mind, of Hagrid telling him the two men had quarreled about something the Headmaster wanted Snape to do, something Snape was adamantly against. 

“No, I am not bloody well alright, Albus! I murdered you!” Snape’s raw voice broke; he turned away from both of them, his shoulders hunched. 

Harry felt his heart twist at the anguish he heard in the man’s voice. The pure grief touched a chord within him, and he found himself reaching a hand out to comfort him. Wait a minute, Harry thought, his head spinning, this was Snape, damn it! The bastard was an evil git, who had hit the Headmaster with a killing curse as easily as most wizards summoned a tea tray! He snatched his hand back before it could reach the ex-professor’s shoulder.

Sparing another quick glance at Snape, Harry looked up at the portrait to see Albus Dumbledore watching the other wizard with sad eyes, a single tear trickling down his cheek. The teenager felt like his head would split as it went round and round, swirling with all the conflicting thoughts and feelings.

“Please, Professor, tell me what is going on,” Harry pleaded in a quiet voice. “I just pledged to protect with my life the bastard who murdered you before my very own eyes! Please, help me understand why this is so important to you.”

The bright blue eyes met his, and the Headmaster favored him with a small smile. “You make me very proud, Harry; by accepting the Vow as you did, out of pure love and respect for me, you have strengthened it immeasurably. I am much comforted by the knowledge that the man I love like a son will be so well protected.”

A choked sob came from the man behind him, but Harry did not look at Snape, his eyes still focused on the portrait of Dumbledore.

Dumbledore’s eyes remained on the older wizard as he spoke. “After the Vow was spoken, Severus stayed in the castle for a time, healing and strengthening his Occlumency abilities. He spent the next few months completing his mastery in Potions, and started teaching at Hogwarts in the fall of 1981, when Horace Slughorn retired. Severus returned to Voldemort after a reasonable amount of time, and began his spying duties, gaining much information for the newly formed Order of the Phoenix.” The portrait paused for a heartbeat. “It was Severus who brought us the news that there was a spy in the Order ranks and Voldemort had just Apparated to Godric’s Hollow that Halloween night, but we were too late, Harry.”

A memory surfaced from the back of his mind, and Harry frowned up at the Headmaster. “They arrested Snape after my parents were killed, and there was a trial, right? I saw part of it in your Pensieve.”

The blue eyes shifted, and Harry flushed, guilt at the memory of being caught in another Pensieve coloring his cheeks.

“Yes, he spent a brief time in Azkaban, just until I was able to vouch for him. Then Severus came home to teach, and Hogwarts settled into a normal routine for a number of years, as you well know. The wizarding community, as a whole, was not forgiving of anyone who had made unfortunate alliances before Voldemort’s fall, unless of course one had wealth to buy one's friends like the Malfoys did; thus Severus continued his teaching duties in relative isolation.” 

The man in question snorted, but Harry thought it sounded rather pathetic when torn at the end by the funny little hiccupping sob. He would not have believed it possible that the snarky bastard could be so distressed about anything. Clearly, the Headmaster’s death had unhinged him.

“Just after you left at the end of term last year, Harry, Severus brought me a vague reference to Horcruxes from one of the Death Eater meetings. It seemed that Tom Riddle was enraged over the loss of the Prophecy, as well as my stepping in when he felt he had the perfect opportunity to kill you, and was not a careful as normal during his tirade.”

The room had become silent, and Harry could feel the dark eyes of the Slytherin on the back of his head, indicating that Snape was watching his reaction as well. It occurred to the teenager that the man probably did not know the whole story, either.

“I obtained the memory of Bob Ogden and saw in it the ring of Salazar Slytherin, and knew instantly that would one of the Horcruxes. I Apparated to Little Hangleton and to the former cottage of Marvolo Gaunt, believing that I was well prepared for any protections Tom might have placed on the ring.” The portrait sighed, and settled further into the chair. “I used every charm, every spell, every precaution I could think of, and when the ring showed itself clean of Dark Magic, I picked it up in my right hand and Apparated to the gates of Hogwarts. In my haste, I had forgotten to take into consideration the identity of the original owner of the ring; by the time I made it through those gates, my hand was withered and black, and I was dying.”

Looking down at the undamaged hand his image had been painted with, Albus Dumbledore was silent for a moment, and Harry could hear Snape take a deep breath, as if remembering the night in question.

“Slytherin put a curse on the ring, sir?”

“Yes, Harry,” the Headmaster smiled sadly. “It was a possibility that I had not stopped to consider in my exuberance of having successfully found the ring, and proven my theory concerning the existence of the Horcruxes. If Severus had not known how to slow the process of the curse, I would have died a horrible death that very night.”

Harry glanced over his shoulder to the unnerving sight of Severus Snape’s unguarded face, alive with raw emotion, his haunted eyes red and swollen. Turning back, he looked into the bright blue eyes watching him intently over the top of the half-moon spectacles.

“Harry, Professor Snape is the only other person who is aware of the Horcruxes and our quest for them. It was he who gathered the information on Slytherin’s ring, and Hufflepuff’s cup. I found the locket by a process of elimination.”

The Headmaster’s words reminded Harry, and he bent to grab his knapsack from the floor, digging to the bottom for the locket. 

“Professor,” his voice broke as hot tears prickled at the corners of his eyes, “this locket is a fake! There’s a note in it from a Death Eater who stole the real one. You didn’t have to die…”

A lump suddenly formed in his throat, and he gripped the locket so tightly it bit into the flesh of his palm. Squeezing his eyes shut, he took a deep breath, trying to will himself not to cry. A hand touched his shoulder tentatively, but Harry shrugged it off, not wanting to be comforted by the very hand that had killed the man he was mourning. He opened his eyes to see Snape’s face harden as he stood beside Harry, but the older wizard did not step away, nor did the obsidian eyes flinch under his angry glare.

“May I see the locket?” Snape asked him quietly, his voice still raspy.

Harry handed it to him without hesitation, knowing now as never before that the Slytherin was completely trustworthy, whether he liked it or not. He watched the play of emotions as the former professor read the note out loud, and stumbled over the initials.

“Do you know who R.A.B. is, Severus?” Dumbledore asked quietly from the portrait.

“Yes,” Snape rasped out, appearing even more shaken than before. “Regulus Alphard Black…”

Harry drew in a sharp breath. “Sirius’ brother!”

Snape continued to stare at the parchment in his hand, its fine tremor gradually becoming more pronounced. “Regulus was a…friend to me after we both took the Mark. He was the one researching Salazar Slytherin’s personal records, going through the artifacts he was known to have passed down to his heirs. Regulus was the reason I knew how to slow down the curse that night, Albus.”

“What happened to him, Severus? I know only that he attempted to leave Voldemort’s service and was killed,” Dumbledore asked gently.

“I never really knew,” Snape said in a hoarse voice devoid of emotion. “We quarreled, a...lover’s quarrel, as he did not want me leaving London to come to Hogsmeade the night I first interviewed with you at the Hog’s Head. I never saw him again.”

His thoughts awhirl, Harry’s eyes slid to the black-clad figure standing on the carpet beside him. Snape and Sirius’ brother had been lovers, and Sirius had hated both of them, or so it had seemed. They would have had to have been very young, only eighteen or nineteen, when they were making the decisions that would dominate their lives, and their deaths, forever, Harry thought. Just as he, Ron and Hermione were making life-altering decisions of their own. At the same age, the Marauders were making their choices, and they had decided to fight for the light, while Snape had decided the Dark was more alluring. At some point after the death of his lover, Snape had changed his allegiance, and now Harry had sworn to be his protector, whether he liked it or not. 

“Where did Regulus live at the time of his death, Severus?” 

The sound of the Headmaster’s quiet voice brought Harry’s eyes back to the portrait where Dumbledore sat leaning forward in his chair. The bright blue eyes tracked the expressions on the normally dour face. 

“He moved out of our flat and back in with his mother at the Grimmauld Place house. He was living there when he was killed.”

“Would he have taken the locket there, Severus?” Dumbledore asked, his voice rising slightly. “Did Regulus know how to destroy the Horcrux?”

At the back of Harry’s mind, a memory of the time he spent at Grimmauld Place the summer before last with Sirius and the Order stirred. His mind tuned out the conversation going on beside him as he concentrated on the memory of cleaning the drawing room, and the Dark Magic objects that they had found there. Playing the scene in his head, Harry saw it – the locket none of them could open!

“Professor!” His head shot up, interrupting the discussion in progress. “I know where the locket is!” He frowned. “Or where it was, I guess. I even had it in my hand!”

“Impossible, Potter, you would be dead if you had touched Slytherin’s locket…”

Harry rounded on the taller man and narrowed his eyes, his sense of rage at the wizard in no way diminished. “Don’t you tell me what I did or didn’t do, Snape! I am still waiting to hear why you were ‘forced’ to murder the Headmaster!” Turning towards the picture, he looked up into Dumbledore’s troubled gaze. “When we were cleaning the drawing room at Grimmauld Place, before my fifth year, there was a locket that we found that none of us could open. It has to be the right one!”

“Where is the locket now, Harry?” the portrait asked him.

“It should still be at Grimmauld Place, if it hasn’t been stolen,” Harry’s face hardened once again at the thought of Mundungus Fletcher. “Dobby!”

The diminutive house-elf appeared with a crack, dressed in his usual stomach-churning mixtures of colors, his tennis ball size green eyes lighting up with delight to see Harry. Throwing his arms around the teenager’s knees, Dobby gave him a swift hug before stepping back and righting the wobbling stack of hats he wore piled on his head.

“Harry Potter! Dobby is so pleased to see…” The usual effusive greeting was cut short when Snape moved into view, and Dobby squeaked, diving behind Harry’s legs.

“It is alright, Dobby,” Harry reassured him, although his voice is stilted. “Professor Snape is under my protection now.” 

“But Harry Potter, he is killing the Professor Dumbledore! Kreacher says he is a traitor! ” Dobby peered around his legs, and ducked back as Snape sneered at him.

“Kreacher calls Professor Snape a traitor, Dobby?” Albus Dumbledore asked from the painting.

“Yes, Professor Dumbledore, sir, Kreacher is calling him the half-blood traitor.”

Snape’s snort was not nearly as effective as is had been in the past, and Harry glared at him, noting that the familiar sarcastic mask seemed to be back in place. Good, thought Harry, easier to deal with the snarky bastard he was used to than the broken, emotional man he had seen when he arrived.

“Has he expressed his opinion to anyone else, Dobby?”

“Oh, no, Professor Dumbledore sir, Harry Potter is forbidding him to speak to anyone else!”

Dumbledore nodded his approval as Harry drew the house-elf out from behind him. “Dobby, I need you to go to the Grimmauld Place…” His voice trailed off as a thought struck him, and looking up, he addressed the Headmaster. “What happened to the enchantment on Headquarters when you died, sir?”

“As the person I trusted most, Severus became Secret-Keeper upon my death, Harry.”

Harry shot a hard look at the older wizard, and received a curt nod in return. Taking a deep breath, he addressed the colorfully clad house-elf again. “I would like you to go to the house on Grimmauld Place and look for a large locket that will not open. It is probably in the waste bins in the basement that Sirius never got around to throwing out, or in Kreacher’s den under the water tank in the pantry.” He looked at Dobby, who fairly bounced with energy. “Do you know how to get there, Dobby?”

“Yes, Harry Potter! Dobby knows this place, and he is going now!”

The diminutive creature disappeared with a crack, and Harry sank to the floor in front of the fireplace. Snape had returned to his chair, where he appeared to be brooding over the scrap of parchment and locket he still held in his hand. Burying his face in his hands, Harry tried to make sense of everything that he had heard tonight. He knew now that Dumbledore had told Snape to kill him, at the end softly pleading with him to fulfill his promise.

“Professor Dumbledore, I understand about the Vow and your injury, but it does not explain what happened that night in the Tower,” Harry said, his voice somewhat muffled by his hands. “Why did you have to die then, and what did Malfoy have to do with it?”

“Can’t you just accept that it was the necessary thing to do in that situation, Potter?” Snape snarled at him.

Harry lifted his head, narrowing his eyes at the older wizard. “Shut it, Snape, I didn’t ask you!”

“Harry,” Dumbledore admonished gently from his portrait, “you and Severus must work together in harmony towards our common goal. Under other circumstances I would not reveal this information, but I know that in order for you to respect him, you need to understand.” The figure paused as if gathering his thoughts, settling himself comfortably in his armchair before he began again.

“At the end of the term last summer, Draco Malfoy was taken before Tom Riddle and marked as a Death Eater. At that time, he was given a task that he had to complete by the end of the new school year, Harry, and that task was to kill me. In turn, it would be Severus’ responsibility to make sure Draco carried out his task; when we learned this, we knew that his days as a spy were almost over.” The former Potions master snorted. “Several days later, I went to the Gaunt cottage to retrieve Slytherin’s ring, and ran afoul of the curse on it. It became apparent that I would die from the curse before a year was out, and our plans changed. Severus would take the cursed Defense Against the Dark Arts position, so that he could take up the search for the Horcruxes when the term ended and I was gone.”

Harry had to blink moisture from his eyes as memories of that last night were drawn forth by Dumbledore’s words. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Snape was holding himself rigid, staring into the small flames in the fireplace.

“Then, two weeks into the holidays, Draco’s mother paid a visit to Severus with her sister,” Dumbledore paused fractionally, “Bellatrix Lestrange.”

“Bellatrix!” Harry was on his feet, hands balled into fists at his side.

“Yes, Bellatrix, who always suspected that Severus was not as loyal to Voldemort as he appeared. When Narcissa wanted Severus to pledge to watch over Draco and help him complete the task he had been given, Severus agreed, only to have Narcissa add to it that he was to kill me if Draco failed. They swore an Unbreakable Vow with Bellatrix as the Bonder.”

“An Unbreakable Vow?” Harry asked, still agitated at the mention of Sirius’ murderer.

“Like most vows, failure to complete the terms of the vow results in death. Nevertheless, it fit well into the plans we had made: I was not concerned about anything Draco would come up with during the year, and by killing me, Severus would bolster his position within the Death Eaters. Severus argued against the idea quite vehemently.”

The memory of Hagrid’s story surfaced again. “That was what you were arguing about when Hagrid overheard you,” Harry guessed, shooting another glance at the dark-haired wizard whose face was now set in a harsh mask of indifference, a reaction nullified by the fine tremble in the man’s hands.

“Yes indeed, Harry,” Dumbledore looked sadly at Snape, who refused to look up at him. “Severus was fervently against the plan, but had no choice in the matter, as it happened.”

“At the end, in the Tower, you were not pleading for your life,” Harry’s voice caught on the word. “You were reminding him of his duty.”

“Yes, Harry,” came the soft reply, “it was a reminder of his pledge to me, as well as the vow to Narcissa Malfoy. I knew I would die that night, as did you, if you recall my reaction to drinking the potion covering the locket. It was time, Harry; you must come to terms with this and move forward.”

Dumbledore stood and smoothed the front of his royal blue robes, his eyes lingering on the stiff form of Snape. “I must go to my portrait at Hogwarts and inform Minerva of all that has happened. As the Headmistress, she will need to know everything. I know we have much to discuss, Harry, but please, settle in. We will speak more when I return.” 

With that, Dumbledore strode out of the portrait and vanished, leaving Harry standing before an empty picture, alone in an unfamiliar house with Severus Snape.


	4. Settling in With Snape

* * *

Looking around the room for the first time since he had arrived, Harry took in the high ceilings and curtains draped over floor-to-ceiling windows on one side of the room. A second leather armchair sat beside the one currently occupied by Severus Snape, who still gazed at the parchment and locket in his hand. A couch upholstered in matching burgundy leather stood further inside the room, and several small tables had been placed near the chairs. A desk sat tucked into an alcove across the room, and books lined the walls around it. Harry turned to his left and moved toward another doorway set in the wall to the left of the fireplace. 

Harry smiled when he stepped into the kitchen; it reminded him of the Burrow, with its copper-bottomed pots and pans hanging from hooks above a Muggle-style stove. This area was brightly lit, the mid-morning sunlight shining through large windows, and a set of glass doors stood at the far end of the rectangular room, on the other side of the large, scrubbed wood table. Looking around, Harry found what he needed to start a pot of water heating on the stove. Moving to the French doors, Harry looked out into a walled garden at the back of the house, the warm sun shining down. Stepping just outside the door, he stood for several minutes, just enjoying the feel of the sunlight on his face and breathing in the fragrance of the morning.

A hissing sound from the stove pulled him back inside the kitchen. Leaving the door ajar to allow the fresh air in, Harry went inside to take care of the kettle. Rummaging through the surprisingly well-stocked cupboards, he put together a tea tray. There was no sound from the sitting room, and Harry could only assume that Snape was still sitting in there. A wave of sympathy broke over him as he considered all he had learned that morning. To be forced into the position of killing someone you loved was an indescribable horror, and Harry could not begin to image what the former professor might be feeling. If he put himself in the same place, the teenager was not sure he would have the strength or the courage to kill Ron or Remus Lupin. A shiver ran down his spine at the mere thought.

Yet, Severus Snape had somehow found the guts to carry out the orders that the Headmaster had given him, and Harry had to acknowledge that bravery. The intricacies of the plan that had unfolded in the Astronomy Tower a week ago were as complicated as the lies they now had to weave to protect Snape. For all his bravado, Harry was sure that Snape was still teetering on the brink of emotional collapse, and angry that the teenager had already witnessed one meltdown. Trying to put himself in the Slytherin’s place, Harry came to the conclusion that he need only act his normal irritating self, and give Snape time to deal with his turmoil. 

A flash of the scene on the Tower played before his eyes, but Harry pushed it back ruthlessly. Yes, he might trust the man, might even respect him for the courage he had displayed, but Harry still felt a deep-seated hatred of Severus Snape that would take some time to work through. Lifting the tray, he carried it into the sitting room and set it down on the table closest to the chairs. As if Snape were a visitor to his home, Harry poured him a cup of tea; quite certain that the bastard took it hot and bitter like himself, Harry left the strong tea unaltered and extended the cup to him.

“Tea, Professor Snape?” 

The black curtains of hair swayed as the sallow-faced wizard looked up at him, bloodshot eyes blinking at the teacup held before him. As if a simple kindness was the last thing in the world he would expect from Harry Potter, Snape looked at him as if to gauge his intent, then took the cup with slightly trembling hands. Harry picked up his own cup and wandered back into the entryway, watching out of the corner of his eyes as Snape took a hesitant sip.

A staircase led up from the foyer, and Harry followed it up to find a hallway with a five doors. Moving along, he peered in the first door near the landing, to see a large bedroom with a small sitting area, which appeared to be the bedroom that Snape had been using. The second door revealed a similar sized room, furnished with a four-poster, wardrobe, and desk made of a rich dark wood. The hangings and duvet were done in royal blue, and cream-colored carpet covered the floor. The next door revealed a large bathroom with both a shower and a prefect-sized bathtub. The other two doors led to similarly furnished, slightly smaller bedrooms. 

Retrieving his bag from the entry, Harry carried it up to the second bedroom and set it on the bed. Digging down, he removed a spare piece of parchment he’d been working on and retraced his steps to the sitting room. Snape had finished his tea and his head lay back against the chair, his eyes closed. Silently, the teenager collected the cups and tray, carrying them through to the kitchen. A stab of pity shot through him, and Harry ground his teeth together. The last thing he wanted to feel was anything for the greasy git!

With a sigh, Harry walked back into the sitting room to stand beside the older man’s chair. Looking down at the pale face, he could clearly see the ravages of the past week in the pinched expression and dark circles lining his eyes. Some protector I am, thought the teenager as he leaned down and gently nudged the man’s arm. 

“Uh, Professor?” Pathetic, he thought, I don’t even know what to call him!

The older wizard stirred, his eyes blinking blurrily up at Harry, and the teenager could see how lost his former professor felt. Like closing a door, his face became set and the eyes narrowed in what Harry was beginning recognize as the man’s armor. Without waiting for the stinging remark that he was sure was coming, Harry reached down and gently tugged on a sleeve.

“You look done in, sir, why don’t you go lay down for a bit? I will wake you when Professor Dumbledore returns.”

“When I need your advice, Potter…” Snape seemed to realize that his snarling was out of place, and swallowed the rest of his statement before nodding curtly.

Harry paused for a moment to watch the black-clad figure make his way out of the room, then went back into the kitchen. Taking the parchment out of his pocket, he smoothed the rumpled parchment and studied what he had already written:

Horcruxes:  
Riddle diary – destroyed  
Slytherin ring – destroyed  
Slytherin locket - ?  
Hufflepuff cup - ?  
Nagini - ?  
Gryffindor/Ravenclaw item - ?  
Tom Riddle – original?

The information Slughorn had given the young Riddle was that seven was the strongest magical number. If he had split his soul in seven parts, one piece would have still been in his body that night in Godric’s Hollow, Harry reasoned, which might have been destroyed that night. That left four Horcruxes to destroy, three of which he and Dumbledore thought they had identified, and one that they did not know. Harry tapped his teeth with the end of the Muggle pencil he had nicked out of the desk in his room the night before. If Nagini had been one of the Horcruxes, then wouldn’t that piece have been retrieved by Riddle when he was reborn in the cemetery two years ago? Harry was further confused by Voldemort’s first ‘death’ as he considered the possibility that one of the pieces of Riddle’s soul died when Voldemort was originally destroyed by the rebounding Killing Curse cast on Harry as a baby. 

Harry rubbed at his temples, trying to banish the headache caused by the circular logic of the Horcruxes. This was the kind of thing Hermione did quite well, but they had decided not to contact each other for the first week after term, allowing each to put their affairs in order. They were scheduled to meet next weekend for Bill and Fleur’s wedding, and then to set out on their search. Then there was Snape. What was he supposed to do with someone who was being actively sought for murdering the most powerful Light wizard in the world, especially when Snape was guilty of the crime, despite the extenuating circumstances. Aurors were not known for their patience, and the teenager could not see them waiting for him to explain why it really wasn’t murder before attacking.

With a sigh, Harry stood and stretched. It had been about an hour since he had sent the former DADA teacher upstairs to sleep. Moving about, he peered into the cupboards, pulling out what he needed to throw together a hearty stew for lunch. It looked to him like Snape had not eaten in awhile. Still a month away from being able to legally use magic, the young Gryffindor began to chop and slice up the meat and vegetables that he would need for the meal, letting his mind wander as his hands worked. The older wizard had always been a cruel bastard when Harry had tried to deal with him, but there had been isolated moments when it seemed he had gotten a glimpse of what lay behind the snarky front: the flashing images from Snape’s own mind during Occlumency lessons; saving Harry from Quirrell’s spell his first year; allowing him to use the advanced potions text that Snape had to know he still had. 

Half-Blood Prince was what Snape had called himself that night as Harry confronted him, and Hermione said it was because his mother was a witch named whose family name was Prince. It surprised Harry to find out that the Slytherin was a half-blood like himself; he had always assumed that the man was a pure-blood like the Malfoys and the Blacks. It seemed like everything he had thought about the man had been an assumption or part of the front Snape had put up, and that no one truly knew him. Harry wasn’t sure what to expect from the man, but he sincerely hoped that Snape would actively help them in their search, especially as the older man seemed to be the one person with the knowledge they needed to break the charms and protections that Riddle had put on the Horcruxes. 

“Harry?” 

A familiar voice was calling from the sitting room. Checking to make sure the stew was simmering gently, Harry grabbed his wand and made his way back to the lounge. There he found Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, clad in a dark green tartan robe, her wand clenched in her hand.

“Professor McGonagall! What are you doing here?” Harry lowered his wand, sliding it back up into his sleeve.

“I asked her to come through, Harry.” Dumbledore was back in his portrait, seated comfortably in his chair. “How is Severus?”

“He is upstairs, sir, hopefully sleeping. I told him I would wake him when you returned.” 

“That’s all right, Harry,” the Headmistress told him hurriedly. “Let Snape sleep for the moment. It is you who I need to speak with for a moment, can we sit down?”

Pulling the other armchair around so that it was within sight of the portrait, Harry sat down nervously. McGonagall seated herself, watching him carefully as he shifted to a comfortable position.

“Harry, Albus has told me of the Horcruxes and the search you both were engaged in. He has also told me what transpired in the Astronomy Tower the night he died, and while I believe him, I need a bit of time to process the whole situation. I can imagine that Severus has been quite distraught, in his own way, and I will speak to him once I have reconciled the facts with the truth.”

Harry nodded, understanding completely, and exchanged a glance with Dumbledore.

“Am I correct in assuming that you had planned not to return to Hogwarts in September?” McGonagall asked him in her no nonsense way.

“No, I have to find the Horcruxes, Professor, I have to…”

“You have to complete your education, Potter,” she barked at him. “As do Mister Weasley and Miss Granger, as I imagine they would not allow you to go searching on your own.” The witch leaned towards him. “I told the Board of Governors yesterday that Hogwarts needed to stay open to allow you to complete your training in order for you to be able to defeat You-Know-Who.”

“But Professor,” he protested, feeling annoyed at her high-handed method, “I have to devote my time to searching for the Horcruxes before Voldemort can kill and terrorize more people!”

“I believe that you may accomplish both at the same time if you utilize the resources of Hogwarts. As Head Boy, and with Miss Granger as Head Girl, you would have a suite of rooms in a central portion of the castle and be able to Floo in and out without anyone but me knowing. You might have to choose the classes you take carefully, but I am sure I can arrange for private tutoring in certain courses that would enable you to ultimately pass your N.E.W.Ts. I am sure that Mister Weasley’s absence from the Gryffindor dorms would be explainable, as well.”

The stern woman’s face softened as she studied him. “Harry, those of us at Hogwarts can help you and your friends, and it can be a safe place to rest when you need that as well. It will reassure most of the parents to know that you are there, and distract the Death Eaters from your true activities.”

Harry considered what she was saying carefully. Returning to Hogwarts would reassure both Ron’s and Hermione’s parents, and had the benefits of the protective charms and enchantments of a thousand years to shelter them. It would also provide them with access to the library for their research. 

“What about Prof…uh, Snape? He is going to be helping us with all this now,” Harry asked her quietly. “Is it going to be all right for him to be there too?”

McGonagall nodded. “Yes, Albus said Severus would be accompanying you. I am sure I can arrange for direct Floo access to his private labs, and supply him with whatever he needs, as well,” she glanced up at the portrait. “You said something about a change in his appearance, Albus?”

“A variation of the Polyjuice Potion, Minerva, one that Severus has been working on that makes subtle, significant changes in one’s appearance, and remains until a counter agent is taken,” Dumbledore explained. 

“I will make sure the Floos are open to him as well, but you realize the danger if he is discovered on Hogwarts grounds.”

Harry snorted before he could stop himself. “Or anywhere else at the moment,” he muttered.

“Quite,” the Headmistress stood, her sharp eyes studying his thin face. “I can see you are determined to take on this task, Potter. I can only hope you will accept my offer.”

“It would be the best solution for everyone, I think, Harry,” Dumbledore spoke his opinion for the first time.

“Yes, I can see that, sir, and I will accept for all of us, Professor.” Harry made the decision instinctively, knowing that Hermione and Ron would agree. “It offers us the perfect cover, as you say, and I know it will ease the Weasleys’ worries.”

Reaching over to pat Harry’s knee, the witch moved back to the fireplace. “I will make the necessary arrangements, and see if we can set things up for you to begin using the library immediately,” she declared as she threw power into the fire. “Do be careful, Harry,” she told him, and with a curt nod, the Headmistress was gone.

“Well done, Harry,” came the quiet voice of Albus Dumbledore. “It is an excellent solution, and one sure to appease Molly Weasley. The poor woman has enough to worry about.”

Part of the conversation with McGonagall resurfaced in Harry’s mind. “Professor, did I truly earn the Head Boy post, or is that just part of the plot as well?”

“You did very well in your studies this past year, Harry, and have proven yourself as an inter-house leader. The faculty voted you to the position the day we went to retrieve the locket,” Dumbledore told him.

A smile lit Harry’s face, showing his relief that he had earned the prestigious post, instead of it being handed to him, like the Boy-Who-Lived title he’d lived with since entering the wizarding world. A sudden thought occurred to him.

“Hang on,”Harry said, before leaping up and heading into the kitchen. Checking the stew quickly, he retrieved the parchment and pencil from the counter. A warm breeze blew in through the open French doors, bringing in the scent of flowers and warm earth. The freshness followed him into the sitting room.

“Professor?” Harry began as he set the parchment down of the table between the chairs, and moved to open the curtains, letting in the bright sunlight.

“Yes, Harry?”

“When we first started to talk about the Horcruxes, you mentioned that one part of Voldemort’s soul was what had kept him alive all those years after the Killing Curse rebounded on him when I was a baby. Does that mean that another part of his soul was destroyed when his body died that night?”

“I should have known you would not keep your word, Potter,” a cold voice drawled from the doorway.

Harry’s head snapped around, an angry retort springing to his lips, as his eyes took in the still haggard former teacher. Clad in a simple white button-down shirt and black slacks, the older man was turning one crisp cuff back from his wrist. His black hair appeared to be damp, and his eyes were still red-rimmed and vulnerable in his pale face. The harsh words he had thought to hurl at the man turned into a sigh as Harry decided one of them needed to act mature. Besides, he reasoned, his lack of response had annoyed the man in the past.

“Severus!” Dumbledore admonished. “Harry wasn’t given the chance to wake you, as Minerva has just left.”

Struggling with his temper, which was not helped by the feeling of Snape’s glare burning into his back, Harry walked back into the kitchen. He ladled out two large bowls of stew and sliced off two pieces of crusty bread he had found in the pantry, while he waited for a pot of water to heat on the fire. Once the tea was made, he settled everything on the tray he had used earlier and carried it back into the sitting room, where the older wizard was seated comfortably in the armchair Harry was beginning to think of as Snape’s. 

Setting the tray down on the low table in front of the couch, Harry carried a bowl and cup of tea to the table where the parchment sat, and set them down. Picking up his own spoon, Harry settled into the second chair and took a bite of the rich, savory broth. Harry sighed with pleasure, and he broke a piece of bread off to dip into the bowl. A snort drew his eyes to Snape, who was eyeing the steaming bowl as if it were a vile, spoiled potion.

“You truly expect me to eat a concoction you made, Potter?” theSlytherin sneered.

Clamping down again on the angry words that the git could starve for all he cared, Harry instead managed a grin.

“Being treated like a house-elf by my relatives at least had the benefit of teaching me how to cook.” Harry tried to reply evenly, but was unable to keep sarcasm from coloring the tone.

Snape pinned him with a hard glare, but picked up his spoon and took a tentative bite. Blinking with something akin to astonishment, the dour man began to eat in earnest. Harry ate hungrily for a few minutes before turning his attention back to the question he had tried to ask the Headmaster before Snape had interrupted. Looking up, he saw that the bright blue eyes were watching them both, and he was rewarded with a smile.

“So, Professor, have two or three of the Horcruxes been destroyed?”

“I believe that Tom’s experiments with immortality allowed him to retain the portion of his soul left inside him when his curse rebound off you, Harry, although he lost his corporal form that night. Had he transferred his soul to another vessel, he could not have survived in any form.”

“So, we have five Horcruxes to destroy, Voldemort and four others.”

“Yes, Harry, I believe so, unless…”

Harry looked up again from his almost empty bowl to see the portrait of the Headmaster lost in thought. 

“Unless what, sir?”

Dumbledore looked at him with a strangely apologetic look. “Unless he went to Godric’s Hollow that night with the intent to create another Horcrux.”

Harry laid aside his spoon and carefully set his bowl down. “Voldemort didn’t have the chance to do that, though, if the Killing Curse rebounded off me and hit him before he could split his soul again.” 

“Yes, you are correct, Harry, he would have had to prepare a container of some type,” the Headmaster agreed, his forehead furrowed in thought.

“Unless the transfer was accidental,” Harry said in a flat voice, the possibility hitting him with the force of a bludger. “If he had cast the Horcrux spell after he killed my dad and my mom, and planned to transfer it after he killed me, then could that portion of his soul have ended up in me when the curse rebounded?”

“I don’t know, Harry, but I do not believe that the human body can live with two souls,” the Headmaster told him carefully.

“It would explain the transfer of powers to me, wouldn’t it? And the bizarre connection with my scar?” Harry’s voice began to rise. “It would explain the last part of the Prophecy as well.”

“Sweet Merlin, Potter, why does it always have to be about you?” Snape snarled as he slammed his empty bowl onto the table and stood, walking towards the entry. “You are just as vain and arrogant as your father and godfather! Poor little Harry Potter, savior of the wizarding world!” 

Harry had gone through another growth spurt, and stood only half a head shorter than the former Potions professor, and he had the might of righteous indignation behind him. He was across the room before he knew it, with Snape slammed up against the wall, his hand fisting in the white linen shirt. Standing nose to nose, he spat the words out between gritted teeth.

“That will be the last time you throw those words in my face, Snape! I am well aware of the fact that both my father and Sirius were effing arseholes to you, but I am NOT MY FATHER! I have never done anything to you to warrant the level of cruelty and venom that you have always spewed at me, and I want it to stop NOW! We will be working together closely for the foreseeable future, and I will not put up with this type of verbal abuse to my friends or me! Do I make myself clear?”

Raw magic whipped around them, ruffling Harry’s hair and making his eyes seem to glow, and he could feel it pulse around them. Snape went absolutely still, not even seeming to breathe as his eyes widened at the incredible display of magical power. Understanding that this was in fact a very powerful, extremely pissed-off wizard standing in front of him, not just a sixteen-year-old boy playing at wizard, finally ripped away the haze that clouded his perception.

“Yes, quite clear.”


	5. Comparing Notes

* * *

The nightmare gripped him in a sensory maelstrom, green spell light soaring around him, and people dropping on both sides of him, but Harry was powerless and unable to move. His mum and dad screamed his name as they were killed by the curse fired from the dark tip of Voldemort’s wand. That wand turned on him, the jet of green light tipped with a slice of black at the apex of the arrow of spell light, the piece of Voldemort’s soul striking him in the forehead, and he screamed.

Something brushed his hands away from where his fingers dug at his forehead, smoothing his hair where it had stuck in the sweat drenching his face, the touch gentle. Harry groaned as that touch warred with the remnants of the searing nightmare, twisting in the bed. A hard hand grasped his shoulder and shook him roughly, and Harry shot up in the unfamiliar bed, his wand already in his hand. His glasses found their way into his hand, summoned silently from their place on the bedside table. 

The dim room came into focus, and Harry could see Severus Snape standing in the doorway, back lit by a candle burning in the hallway. The man was disheveled, a dressing gown hurriedly pulled over a matching pair of pajama bottoms, hanging open to reveal a smooth bare chest. Harry blinked, his eyes sweeping up to the scowling face.

“You were screaming, Potter.” 

Harry shook his head; the tangled sheets twisted around his waist, and pressed his left hand against the throbbing scar on his forehead. “Sorry, just a nightmare,” he muttered, sliding his wand back under his pillow. 

“A nightmare, or something more,” Snape asked with a snap, taking a step closer,

“No, just a regular nightmare, nothing more,” Harry said. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

Without a word, the older man retreated from the room, and Harry lay back down, his heart still racing. A glance out the window showed the green-grey ribbon toward the eastern horizon, which heralded the coming of dawn. Sliding out of bed, Harry padded to the bathroom clad in the boxer he used to sleep in, and relieved his bladder. Settling back under the covers, Harry tried to go back to sleep, but found that his mind would just not shut down.

Rolling over, he punched his pillow in an effort to flatten it a bit, his thoughts returning to the previous afternoon. He had not meant to lose his temper, but he was not going to take the abuse from Snape any longer. The sardonic bastard was no longer his professor, and in fact under his protection for Merlin’s sake! Harry made it clear that he would not tolerate the man’s scathing tongue any longer. They had stood toe to toe for several long minutes while Harry reined in his magic, before he had stepped away and gone into the kitchen to straighten up. Doing dishes the muggle way had a calming effect, and gave him the time he needed to get a handle on his temper.

A murmur of conversation filtered in from the sitting room, and Harry grinned at the thought of Dumbledore giving the sour former professor a dressing down. With a fresh tea tray, Harry returned to the sitting room just as Snape was telling the portrait the story of what had happened when he had Apparated with Malfoy and the Death Eaters to Voldemort’s side. Snape had relayed the events in an uncharacteristically even tone, without his usual sneer. After being praised by the Dark Lord for finishing what Draco could not do, watching the teenager tortured for his inabilities, Snape himself had suffered the Cruciatus for saving the boy. 

Voldemort decreed that Snape had earned his absolute trust with his act of ‘loyalty’ and then banished him after a taste of Cruciatus, until the fervor over Dumbledore’s death had died down. Snape was supposed to be residing in the small town house left to him by his mother, which he had warded heavily and closed up tight the moment Fawkes had appeared to him. He admitted in a quiet voice that he believed his usefulness to the monster who had been Tom Riddle was now limited to his ability as a Potions master, and that would not keep him alive for long. The man knew he could no longer show his face anywhere, and he was now wanted by the Ministry of Magic for the murder of Albus Dumbledore.

That thought had struck Harry hard. This man, who had taken so much perverse pleasure in taunting Sirius about his circumstances, now found himself in the same situation. A prisoner of the four walls the house provided, unable to show his face anywhere, Snape was as much a prisoner as the former Marauder had been at Grimmauld Place. The irony of it would have made him laugh gleefully a week ago, but now it just made him sad. The portrait of the Headmaster had brought up the modified Polyjuice Potion, and the former Potions professor had agreed to try it, somewhat reluctantly Harry thought, once his stores could be retrieved from his personal lab. 

Harry rolled over and punched at the pillow again, trying to make it as flat as the ones he was used too at Hogwarts. Leave it to Albus Dumbledore to have the fullest, fluffiest pillows around! Finally, he gave up the effort and showered, dressing casually in loose shorts and a tee shirt, his feet bare. Padding down the stairs, he could hear the baby Fawkes twittering in his nest of ashes as he entered the sitting room. With a smile Harry made his way in to the kitchen, he began to pull out the ingredients he would need to bake some scones for breakfast. The Headmaster has not bee in his portrait when Harry had passed and he wondered where else Dumbledore had portraits.

Watching the golden hues of the sunrise bouncing off the bottom of a bank of low-lying clouds, Harry was started by a loud crack as Dobby the house-elf materialized beside him.

“Harry Potter sir!” Dobby threw his arms around the teenager’s knees. “Dobby is finding lockets for you at Grimmauld Place, but none of them is not opening, Harry Potter.”

The diminutive creature held out both his hands, two tarnished silver lockets in one and a small golden locket in the other. He laid them carefully on the counter near where Harry was rolling out dough, and the young wizard craned his neck to get a look at them.  
“No, it is not any of these, Dobby, it was gold, but larger than this one and none of us could open it,” the house-elf looked crestfallen at Harry’s words, looking as if he were contemplating hurting himself, and Harry continued hurriedly. “But it is not your fault, Dobby. I think Mundungus Fletcher must have stolen it along with those goblets I caught him with!”

“Dobby will find Mundungus Fletcher and get Harry Potter’s locket back!” The colorfully clad creature told him, eyeing the sticky mess Harry had in his hands. “But Dobby must be finishing breakfast first!”

A bemused Harry found himself sitting at the table as Dobby finished his breakfast preparations, and listened as the elf decreed he was too powerful a wizard to be cooking and cleaning. Harry had no objects to the house-elf helping take care of the house, although he cringed at the thought of Snape’s vicious tongue being unleashed on poor Dobby. On the other hand, Dobby had survived many years of service in the Malfoy household he reasoned, and could probably stand up for himself. 

“Dobby, I would like you to be my head house-elf if you would like, and if Winky is still having problems, maybe she would like to work for us, too. 

Harry watched as the house-elf nodded, the stack of colorful hats on his head bobbing ominously, and he did not think he’d every seen his little friend look happier. The expression on Dobby’s face was a prequel to a minor explosion of glee and Harry pressed on, hoping to avoid an explosion from the demonstration creature. 

“After you are done in the kitchen, Dobby, I believe Professor Snape has some potions he needs retrieved from his private lab at Hogwarts. After you rest up some, I would like you to track down Fletcher and see if he has the locket or any other items that belong to Sirius,” Harry told him. “Kreacher might be able to tell you where the locket went to as well, come to think of it.” 

His head bobbing with enthusiasm, Dobby threw himself around Harry’s knees, practically sobbing his acceptance of the wizard’s offer.

“Undying devotion even from house-elves, Potter? How quaint.”

Ignoring Snape as he strolled into the kitchen dressed in his black robes, Harry attempted to disentangle himself from the exuberant Dobby. Picking up the plate of scones, he set them on the scrubbed wood table. Dobby set a fresh pot of tea on the table while eyeing the former professor and his dour expression. In a squeaky voice, he asked Snape for a list of what he needed from his potions lab, and then disappeared with a ‘crack’.

Helping himself to a warm scone, Harry took a bite out of the corner; pleased to see they had turned out light and fluffy. Spreading it with the raspberry jam he had found in the pantry, which he knew to be the Headmaster’s favorite, and savored the wonderful flavor. Snape silently took the seat opposite of him, pouring himself a cup of tea, and reaching for a scone. Harry swallowed a bite and washed it down with his sweetened tea, as he watched his companion through his lowered lashes as the dark eyes closed in appreciation, as he tasted the scone.

“Finally,” he muttered. “A house-elf capable of cooking a decent meal.”

Smirking, Harry looked up. “I am no sure that I would qualify as a house-elf, but they did turn out well, didn’t they?”

Just the look of disbelief was reward enough for Harry, as he took another scone and broke it in to pieces. It looked like the older wizard wanted to make an angry retort, but his mouth was full of scone and trying to maintain the fragile harmony, Harry hurried on.

“Dobby was here to report that his search for the locket at Grimmauld Place was a failure. I have a feeling that Mundungus nicked the locket along with all the rest of the stuff I caught him with last term. Dumbledore said he had put a stop to it, but I don’t know where all the stuff went to, or how much he sold before we caught him in Hogsmeade,” Harry took a deep breath, reining in his anger. “Dobby is going to see if he can find him after he gets those potions for you. He is also going to take over the managing of the house while we are here.”

Snape sneered at him. “Are you too good to do your own cooking and cleaning, Potter?”

“Not at all, Professor, but Dobby has become attached to me since I freed him from the Malfoys, and he was in the Headmaster’s service, so I offered him a position here. I am fully capable of paying him,” Harry told the older man as he stood and cleaned up his dishes.

Leaving the silent man still eating his scone, Harry went back up to his room, his bare feet enjoying the thickness of the carpeting. Retrieving the list of Horcruxes, he made his way back down to the sitting room as he studied what he’d written the previous afternoon, his own name shakily written at the bottom of his list. Opening the curtains to let in the daylight, he looked up to see the Headmaster still sleeping in his portrait. Sliding into the leather armchair in front of the unlit fireplace, Harry smoothed the parchment out against his leg; he started another list on the opposite side of the page.

Possible Hiding Spots:

He paused, thinking about the memories that he had seen in Dumbledore’s Pensieve. Tom Riddle had collected ‘treasures’ from a young age, and hide them in his cupboard, and the two Horcruxes they had already located were placed in areas that were significant to Riddle: his grandfather’s cottage and the cave by the sea he had terrorized fellow orphans in as a boy. Tapping the pencil against his lips, Harry concentrated on what he had learned of Voldemort through their link over the years, thinking back to his first year at Hogwarts, and then began to write.

Possible Hiding Spots:  
Orphanage  
The Forbidden Forest  
The Chamber of Secrets  
The Trophy Display (Special Service Award?)  
Slytherin Dorms  
Riddle House  
Graveyard (Riddle grave)

 

“Good morning, Harry.”

Harry looked up to see the Headmaster beaming from his portrait. “Good morning, sir.”

“Have you any news this morning?”

“Dobby was here earlier and he could not find the locket at Grimmauld Place, but it could be in the stuff that Mundungus nicked from there, so he was going to get the potions that Professor Snape told him he wanted and then go look for Dung.”

During the exchange, Snape had walked in from the kitchen carrying a cup of tea, and moved to stand over Harry’s shoulder. Feeling the older wizard peer down to read what was written on the parchment, it was all Harry could do not to whip it out of sight. 

“Good morning, Severus, you look better this morning.”

“Thank you, Albus. Potter, what is this drivel?” The former Potions master reached forward to tap the list with a slender, pale finger, the tip stained yellow from years of potion making. 

Gritting his teeth, Harry said civilly. “It is a list of places that we might search for the remaining Horcruxes.”

Severus Snape nodded slightly, stabbing at the “Riddle House’ notation. “The manor, as well the cemetery, is in Little Hangleton, adjacent to the Gaunt cottage. I do know that the Dark Lord spent time in the manor during while the Tri-Wizard Tournament was going on in your fourth year.”

“Yes, I saw it several times in visions that I had that year, and know that an old man was killed there just before the Quidditch World Cup the summer before, as I was still at the Dursleys when I had it.”

“Indeed.” 

The greasy git actually sounded interested, Harry thought with a feeling of disbelief, waiting for the snide, snarky comment that was sure to follow. 

“What do you have there, Harry?” Dumbledore asked, straightening his robes as he stood from his chair.

“It is a list of the places that Tom Riddle may have hidden the other Horcruxes, although I am not sure how much access he might have had to some of them.” Harry told the portrait before reading off the list of places he had written down.

“I had not thought of the Chamber of Secrets, Harry, but that would be a likely spot giving what we now know of Tom’s behavior in his seventh year. In fact, I believe he murdered his father and grandparents between his sixth and seventh, if memory serves, but I did search both the cemetery and the manor house when I found the ring at the Cottage,” Dumbledore told them. “As well as the orphanage where Tom grew up.”

“Borgin and Burkes,” Snape interjected thoughtfully. “Or somewhere nearby in Knockturn Alley may be worth examining as the Dark Lord frequented the area during and after his employment there. There was also a gold Medal of Magical Merit that I have heard him speak of being presented upon his completion of his studies at Hogwarts that may be the final Horcrux.” 

“Yes,” the Headmaster smiled. “I had quite forgotten that award, Severus. Tom’s award for Special Services is still in the Hogwarts trophy room, and would not have been very accessible to him after he left school, but he took the Medal of Merit, as well as his Head Boy badge with him.”

Harry crossed off the Little Hangleton sites and added Knockturn Alley to his list. “Did you search everywhere at the orphanage, Professor Dumbledore?” He looked up at the painting.

“I am sure he stood in the middle of the muggle-invested building and said, ‘Accio Horcrux’, Potter,” sneered the older wizard, still looking over shoulder.

“I simply meant,” Harry ground out, his temper flaring as Snape final made his way to the other chair, but did not sit. “That as I was not allowed any of my Hogwarts books or supplies during the summer at the Dursleys, I had to hide them under a loose floorboard in my room in order to get my assignments done. I just wondered if Riddle had something similar.”

Snape snorted loudly. “The pampered little savior, the Chosen One, not allowed his school books on holidays? Surely you jest!”

“Enough!” Roared Dumbledore in the voice Harry had only ever heard once before, at the Halloween Feast that dissolved into chaos as Quirrell announced the presence of a mountain troll. “I warned you yesterday about baiting Harry, Severus, and it will stop now! It would not take much for him to work out that it was you who brought me the information that his relatives where abusive towards him, as he certainly never told anyone!” The blue eyes blazed down at the former professor, who had the grace to look embarrassed. “You must get past the old habits and work together, Severus!”

“He hates me, Albus!” Snape’s voice rose, a bitter edge to it. “He will never let me forget how I have treated him, that I am dependent on HIS protection! How am I to work with that?”

“You will find a way, Severus, or you will be the one who loses!” 

“If you would just accept that I am Harry and not James Potter, and I will try to forget what a bastard you have always been to me!” Harry was on his feet, trying to tamp down his anger, surprised that Snape had cared enough to tell the Headmaster what he’d seen during their Occlumency. 

Harry met the onyx eyes with a glare, surprised at the wariness he saw there. He could deal with Snape when he was being a snarky arse, but he was not used to this new insight into the man’s personality. It was easier to think of the former Potions Master as a Slytherin who hated all Gryffindors, an ex-Death Eater who was not afraid of anything, and lived to torment students like Harry. The Severus Snape that Harry had met yesterday, the one in pain over the death of his friend and mentor, anguishing at having been forced by an oath to that very man to kill him, was someone the young wizard was at a loss to understand. To think that Snape was capable of having emotions like grief, sadness, remorse, and especially love, was foreign to Harry, as was the idea that the greasy git was actually human. It was disturbing to him to have to consider this.  
With a crack, Dobby appeared in between them, looking at Harry with wide green eyes, sensing the tension in the room. Harry took a breath and managed a sincere smile at the hesitant house-elf, laying a hand on the small shoulder.

“Hello, Dobby, did you get what the Professor needed?”

“Yes, Harry Potter, Dobby is getting just want the Professor Snape asked for! Dobby is sending them into the kitchen with Winky, sir, excepting for the bottles he wanted.” 

Dobby was taking a small leather pouch of a pocket in his colorful apron and carefully handed it to Snape. Surprising Harry by murmuring a word of thanks, the older man took the pouch and opened it, examining the contents.

“Is everything all right, Severus?” Dumbledore asked, once more seated serenely in his squashy armchair. 

Harry watched as Snape pulled a small bottle of a translucent golden colored potion from the leather. Holding it to the light, the Potions master eyed it critically.

“Yes, Albus, it looks perfect.”

“Then, if you are ready, Severus.”

The dark eyes locked with Harry’s and a fleeting expression of fear ran through them, as the raven haired man thumbed the cork out of the top of the vial, and raised it slowly to his lips. As Harry watched, an irrational urge struck him to knock the bottle out of Snape’s hand, but he was too slow, and Snape downed the potion, doubling over instantly with a sharp gasp.


	6. The Search Begins

* * *

Harry watched in horrified fascination as Severus Snape dropped the small vial, now emptied of the golden liquid he had just consumed. Bent double, the older man staggered and would have fallen if the young Gryffindor had not caught him, maneuvering Snape in the leather armchair. The DADA professor threw his head back with a pained groan and Harry could not help but gawk at him. It was like a giant golden paintbrush was sweeping slowly over the older wizard, leaving behind a subtly changed man. The black curtains of greasy hair changed into soft looking waves of a golden brown that were almost the dark amber of spun gold. The sallow skin took on a light golden tone, and the large, hooked nose lost its crook and narrowed slightly. Snape’s eyes opened, and Harry was startled to see they had turned into the warm golden color of fine sherry. 

When Snape doubled over again in obvious pain, Harry tentatively placed a hand on the man’s arm. “Can I get you something?”

The golden head shook in the negative; feeling the heat radiating from the over-warm flesh through the thick robes, Harry turned to the house-elf and quietly asked for a tea tray. Gently taking the small leather pouch out of Snape’s hand, he set it down next to the parchment on the small table. Snape sat back up, leaning his head back against the high chair, his eyes shut tightly. Studying the changed features, Harry had to admit it was a brilliant transformation, the subtle changes significant enough to mislead, yet he could still readily recognize Severus Snape, because he knew who he was looking at. Ignoring the danger of the action, Harry reached up and laid a hand across the man’s brow.

“Kindly unhand me, Potter.” The usual sneer was absent from the hissed words, and brought a smile to Harry’s lips.

“You feel feverish, Professor, is that normal?”

“Yes,” Snape told him, his voice a bit stronger. He batted the teenager’s hand away. “It is a by-product of the transformation. The skin heats as the potion makes the changes semi-permanent.”

“It’s brilliant, but the potion didn’t look anything like regular Polyjuice Potion.”

“It is a greatly distilled version of the original the potion, one in which the lacewings are stewed for five days instead of…” Golden-brown eyes opened, eyeing Harry suspiciously.

“Instead of the usual twenty-one days, you mean?” Harry inquired with a cheeky grin, remembering his second year and the version of the potion he, Ron, and Hermione had brewed.

Snape shot him a sharp glance. It was just not the same, Harry thought, with the lighter, warmer eyes, and the smooth golden skin that made him look younger and less foreboding. Dobby brought in the tea, as the portrait of Albus Dumbledore cleared his throat.

“Severus, are you quite alright?” There was a concerned expression on the elderly wizard’s face.

“Yes, Albus, it actually feels fine now, and should not waiver until I take the antidote,” the black-clad man said quietly as he accepted a cup of hot tea from Dobby before the diminutive creature disappeared.

Harry would have sworn the bright blue eyes of the Headmaster twinkled merrily as he smiled down at them. “You must choose a new name now, my boy.”

“Prince,” Harry interjected before he could help himself, earning him glare from the Slytherin. “Well, you have called yourself that before, so it should be easier for you and me to remember than something totally different.”

“Devon,” the Headmaster added softly. “Derived from the Latin for faithful, loyal and devoted. Yes, Devon Prince will do nicely, don’t you think?”

Snape seemed to be considering the name for a moment, his normally dour face blank, before he nodded once. “My mother would have liked it, I think.”

Harry glanced at the shelf where the Pensieve sat, and saw the dark wand still resting there. That wand carried Severus Snape’s magical signature, and would be a dead give-away were he to use it again before they had accomplished their goal. With Ollivander gone, Harry had no idea where they could go to get a replacement wand. 

“Professor, won’t Pro…uh, Devon need a new wand now?” 

Snape, who had started to throw Harry a filthy look at the use of his new first name, was thrown off balance at the mention of his wand. Harry saw his eyes dart toward the shelf, and then return determinedly to the portrait. 

“Yes, of course, you are correct my boy, if you would summon Dobby for me please.”

“Dobby!” Harry called without raising his voice, and the colorful house-elf dutifully appeared.

“Harry Potter is needing Dobby, sir?”

“Actually, I need you to bring Harry my wand, Dobby, if you would be so good as to fetch it.”

Dobby disappeared with a pop and reappeared seconds later with the slender length of dark wood Harry recognized as the Headmaster’s wand. With a trembling hand, Harry accepted it from Dobby and was startled when the warm wood suddenly ejected a stream of gold and green sparks. With a faltering step, he carried it to Snape, who now stood beside the armchair, and handed it carefully to the older wizard, blinking hard against the sudden moisture in his eyes. The golden brown eyes seemed to shimmer back at him as Snape accepted in with a nod and grasped it firmly, starting when gold and silver sparks shot from the tip.

“Excellent, dear boys, excellent! I was certain that as my heirs, each of you would be able to utilize my wand, but I had no idea each of you would be not only be compatible, but complement each other as well! 

“Thank you, Albus.” Snape said in a quiet voice as he studied the wand, and with a flick of his wrist he lit the fireplace.

“Professor,” Harry directed his comments to the portrait, his eyes still on the former professor. “I think the Chamber of Secrets would be the best place for us to start our search, since it was the last place Tom Riddle had to hide things before he left Hogwarts. I think we will need to get a few things together first, though.”

Dumbledore nodded his agreement as Harry spoke. “You are, of course, the only other one who can open the Chamber, Harry, and it would make sense that Tom would hide something there. What is it you will need?”

Harry could see the curiosity in Snape’s eyes, the mention of Salazar Slytherin’s hidden Chamber under the Slytherin dungeons clearly intrigued him. With a smirk of his own, Harry wondered what the man would say if he knew what awaited them down there. Had it been cold enough to preserve a basilisk over the past four years? The chamber he remembered was huge, and that had just been the main room, Slytherin had certainly built others that would need to be investigated.

“We will need brooms to get out, and should probably plan on being down there at least one night, as the main chamber was at least as large as the Great Hall.”

Dumbledore nodded and stood again. “I will check with Minerva to see if this is a convenient time for your presence in the castle. Can you be ready in half an hour?”

Glancing at the Slytherin, Harry answered for both of them. “Yes, sir.”

 

Stepping out of the Floo into the Headmistress’ office an hour later was surreal to Harry, who had been there just once since the death of Albus Dumbledore. Severus Snape stood rigidly beside him, facing one of his closest associates for the first time since his flight from the castle. Minerva McGonagall sat stiffly in the chair behind her desk as Harry greeted her, her eyes never leaving the face of the man beside him. Snape bore her scrutiny without flinching, and it dawned on Harry that it was nothing new for the older wizard to have to stand as people judged him.

“Professor McGonagall, Devon and I should get started.”

Harry was glad to see that his words seemed to snap the older woman out of her reverie. Her expression softened suddenly, and she looked up to see Dumbledore watching from his portrait before she spoke.

“I realize this is difficult for you, D…Devon,” she stumbled over the name. “I will do my best to assist you and Mister Potter in any way. The corridors should be empty at the moment as the teachers are in the staff room waiting for me. Good luck.”

Harry led the way down the revolving steps and along the hallways towards Moaning Myrtle’s second floor girl’s lavatory. True to her word, not a soul was in sight as they made their way to the door in silence. When Harry pushed it open, one of the stall doors slammed shut with a bang and startled them both.

“Myrtle?” Harry called out softly.

The translucent figure of a dark-haired, pimply-faced teenager with glasses descended from above them.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said with a sniff. “You haven’t been to visit me all year, Harry.”

“I’m sorry, Myrtle,” Harry had the grace to look ashamed. “It has been a hard year, you know.”

She nodded solemnly, studying Snape as he looked around the bathroom. “Yes, Dumbledore and all that. But school is out now, why are you here and who is that?”

“This is my uh…friend, Devon, Myrtle, and we need to go into the Chamber. Will you please make sure no one else comes in while we are down there?” Harry asked in his sweetest voice.

Myrtle had been making eyes at Snape, who studied her in morbid fascination. He did not say anything when the ghost swooped over them and hovered near the door. Turning towards the sinks, Harry moved to stand in front of the faucet with the serpent on it, and hissed in Parseltongue for it to open. Intent on his goal, he almost missed the shudder that ran down Snape’s spine just a there was a bright flash of light, and the entrance to the Chamber opened. 

“Grab on to your broomstick, it’s quite a drop down the pipe before we hit the bottom of the tunnel.”

Harry was glad for the Muggle jeans and jumper he wore underneath his robes and cloak as he stepping into the darkness and plunged feet-first down the twisting pipe. The wind whistled around his head, a dull roar filling his ear as he skidded down, gripping the school broom tight across his chest. The pipe fell sharply, just as he remembered, twisting and turning as other pipes led off to the sides at intervals, though none were as large as the one they were in. After what seemed like a very long time, he shot out of the pipe and landed with a thud in the middle of a dark stone tunnel. It was as damp as Harry remembered, and a lingering stench of decay permeated the air. 

Turning quickly, he was able to catch Snape’s arm and cushion the older man’s landing. Looking around, Harry could see that it was basically unchanged, with most of that section of tunnel filled with rock and debris from the cave-in caused four years ago by Gilderoy Lockhart. He lifted his wand.

“Lumos.”

The opening in the debris pile appeared smaller to him than it had at twelve, and Harry used his wand to careful clear a path out of the rubble field. For a moment he considered leaving the brooms there, but he decided against it after remembering the height and breadth of the main chamber; the brooms might come in handy there. With a glance at his companion, Harry led the way. Following the stone tunnel as it twisted and turned, then turned again, he was relieved to finally see the solid wall that heralded the entrance to the Chamber, with its two entwined guardian serpents carved into the stone, their emerald eyes gleaming.

“Open,” he said in a low hiss.

The snakes parted and the wall split open, the two halves sliding smoothly out of sight onto the wall itself. Harry stepped cautiously into a high-ceilinged chamber that was as long and dark as it was in Harry’s memories. An eerie greenish glow oozed out of the gloom, casting long shadows. Hearing Snape’s footsteps falter, no doubt in disbelief, Harry had to smile, the memory of his own first impression still vivid in his mind. He made his way deeper inside, wrinkling his nose as he skirted around the surprisingly well-preserved carcass of the basilisk. The great stone statue of Salazar Slytherin stood like a foreboding sentinel at the far end of the Chamber, as ancient and monkeyish in reality as it was in his nightmares. 

“Potter!” Snape’s strangled cry echoed through the Chamber.

Harry turned back to see the older wizard circling around the basilisk, keeping it in front of him as if it could attack at any moment. Harry shook his head and returned to his scrutiny of Slytherin’s statue. He walked between the huge feet, trailing a hand lightly over the stone legs, and holding his wand high, examining the structure for any sign of an opening. 

“You actually slew a basilisk? It was not simply a wild rumor?” The tone was incredulous. “The skin and remaining teeth of that monstrosity would be highly useful in a number of potions, and are worth a bloody fortune!”

Harry turned to look at Snape. Snape’s head swiveled back and forth between Harry and the huge carcass, a look on the older wizard’s face something akin to awe. Blinking, it took Harry a minute to realize that the greasy git was actually impressed, and was looking at him for once without the mask of hatred and loathing he had worn for the past six years.

“Yes,” Harry answered quietly. “When Lockhart wouldn’t save Ginny, I had to go in and get her. That was when I met Tom Riddle, or rather, his sixteen-year-old self that had been preserved as a Horcrux in his diary. He set the basilisk on me when I entered the chamber.”

The golden eyes studied him intently. “That was when Fawkes brought you the sword of Gryffindor?”

It was Harry’s turn to be surprised. “Yeah, I mean, he brought the Sorting Hat, and I pulled the sword out of that. I didn’t think anyone knew about that.”

“Albus mentioned it in passing when we first started looking for the Horcruxes last summer.” Snape moved to stand beside him. “If there is time, and you have no objections, I would like to harvest a few parts of the creature before we leave the Chamber.”

Harry stopped and looked at the older man, distinctly puzzled.

“Under wizarding law, you have right of ownership to the carcass, and its considerable value,” the man told him, a contemplative expression on his face.

Harry did not hesitate. “It’s yours, sir, you can do anything you want with it. Use it in potions, sell it, whatever. I only ask that you don’t tell anyone, I would not want it used in any potions that would help Voldemort.”

“Do you have an idea how many galleons a basilisk is worth?” The sneer was back in Snape’s voice, but it was a half-hearted attempt at best.

“No,” Harry answered quietly. “I don’t really need any more money, sir. I’ve never needed much, you know, so if this will support us until we have access to our vaults that would be helpful.”

Harry knew the Slytherin would never take money from him outright, but had already assumed that Snape had been cut off from own his funds by the Ministry after the events in the Astronomy Tower, and he had no way of knowing what to expect as one of Dumbledore’s heirs. Snape gave him a hard glare, almost as if he wanted to make Harry angry, before accepting the offer with a tight nod. A truce seemed to have been made; it held for the rest of the afternoon, as the two wizards systematically searched the stone chamber for any hidden rooms or passages. The walls seemed impenetrable, hewn from solid bedrock, as were the columns and the statue of Slytherin himself. 

Harry climbed up the robes of the statue to inspect the hole the basilisk had slithered out of four years ago. It was nearly large enough for him to stand in. The smell emanating from it was dank and foul, and Harry gagged as he inched his way inside. Holding his lit wand high, he examined the inside of the cramped tunnel, and found the walls, floor and ceiling smooth from centuries of use. The tunnel disappeared at an impossible angle into the darkness, but as Harry could feel a rush of air on his face when he leaned forward. The air was somewhat fresher than the air in the main chamber, indicating another source, but Harry knew there was no way he was going to be able to get down the tunnel. 

Half sliding, half falling, Harry made it back down to the base of the stone figure and stood again between the large feet. Snape had been examining the entwined serpents carved into a column nearby, and turned to watch as Harry scowled up at the monkeyish face. They had tried every revealing spell they knew, along with opening, unlocking, and illuminating spells, but nothing had changed in the stone surface. This was Salazar Slytherin after all, Harry thought, the model for all of the members of Slytherin House to follow, manipulative, power-hunger, paranoid…

Paranoid! That was it, Harry thought, and his face was suddenly split by a huge smile. Of course the old git was paranoid, and every bit as maniacal as his last known descendent, Tom Marvolo Riddle! He felt rather than saw the former professor move to stand beside him as Harry glued his eyes on the nearest stone snake.

“Hidden chamber, reveal yourself !” he hissed in Parseltongue.

At first he thought it had not worked, and his stomach dropped to his knees in disappointment. But then something caught his eye, the briefest impression of a glow.

“Nox!” Harry said quietly. The light from both his and Snape’s wands was instantly extinguished. 

There, against the long robes of the stone statue, was a large door back-lit in the same eerie iridescent yellow-green glow that seeped into the Chamber itself from the deep shadows along the walls. Stepping forward, Harry laid his hand against the door into the hidden room and pushed. The stone did not move, and Harry exchanged a glance at Snape as he began to trace a finger along the glowing edge. 

“Obviously we need a password to gain access to whatever is behind there,” the Slytherin stated the obvious. Harry rolled his eyes in response.

“Do you have any useful suggestions, or are you just being-”

“Pure-blood,” the older man interrupted him.

Harry glowered at the Slytherin git for a moment. He watched with satisfaction as nothing happened, and turned a smug smile towards Snape, who stared back.

“Try it in Parseltongue, idiot boy!” Came the scathing retort.

Harry grimaced. “Pure-blood.”

There was a rumbling deep in the wall, then with a slight grinding noise, the hidden door slid back into the stone, revealing a dark room beyond. Taking a careful step forward, Harry moved through the portal with Snape beside him. As he passed through the doorway into the plane of the room, torches flared, illuminating the interior. Harry could make out what looked like an ancient study and work room. At one end stood a potions workstation with a dull grey cauldron of some type of metal hanging above a burner. The wall adjacent to that was lined with shelves of books, a heavy desk, and chairs of dark wood. Just to their left was a small fire pit with a cooking cauldron, a small table with two chairs, and a small sitting area with an ancient carpet and couch. The room itself appeared have been carved out of the same granite bedrock, and was about as big as the potions classroom in the dungeons. Harry took a wary step into the room, looking into the shadowy area to his right. 

There in the far corner of the room was a small alcove, a crackling blue haze across the opening, and he moved cautiously towards it. Peering into the area, Harry could see a stone pedestal sitting in the center, and he peered through the shielding spell at the alcove’s contents. A small golden cup with two finely wrought handles, the engraving of a badger clearly visible, sat bathed in the glow of iridescent green. 

Harry gasped and moved toward the shield, his hand outstretched, ignoring the strangled cry from behind him.

“Noooo!”

His arm was grabbed, and Harry was forcefully spun away from the alcove, thrown towards the center of the room. Off balance, the younger wizard stumbled and fell, ending up sprawled on the old carpet, and felt Snape tumble on top of him, knocking the breath from him. The older man landed cradled by Harry’s hips, his face buried in the warm column of the Gryffindor’s throat, and a shiver of feeling Harry had never experienced before shot through him like an electric shock. For several heartbeats, the two men lay pressed together, neither moving; when Snape realized where he was, he rolled away and tried to catch his breath.

“That haze is…a curse…it is what burned Albus and led to…his death,” Snape panted. 

The two lay side by side in the hidden sanctuary of Salazar Slytherin, the third known Horcrux sitting tantalizingly within reach.


	7. The Chamber of Secrets

Once he had a fire crackling in the fire pit to take an edge off the chill of the stone chamber, Harry prepared and carried two cups of tea over to the couch. They had spent the past several hours manually cleaning dust and cobwebs from Slytherin’s sanctuary, making it hospitable for the two of them while they determined how to remove the curses and protections that surrounded Helga Hufflepuff’s golden cup. Snape had moved over to examine the books that were shelved at one end of the room, leaving Harry to contemplate the blue haze that shielded the cup. The Potions master had related to him how Albus Dumbledore picked up the Slytherin ring when he had found it, thinking he had neutralized all the curses, only to realize that this blue field surrounded it. By the time the Headmaster had returned to Hogwarts, his hand was blackened; Snape had been able to slow the affects of the curse, but it steadily destroyed the elderly wizard’s internal organs. Only Snape’s potions had kept Dumbledore alive until the night in the Astronomy Tower.

Harry blew across the top of his hot tea, observing the older wizard over the rim of his cup. Minerva McGonagall knew that Devon Prince was, in fact, Severus Snape, as would Ron and Hermione. No one else would be informed. Neither of Harry nor Snape was under any illusions as to the danger the former professor was in from both sides, from those who were loyal to Albus Dumbledore as well as those jealous Death Eaters who envied the sudden elevation of one they had never trusted. The taller wizard continued to study the ancient works that lined the granite shelves, seemingly unaffected by Harry’s scrutiny, and the Gryffindor was amazed at the enigma of the man. Every time in the six years he had thought he knew the dour man, something happened to prove him wrong; from the time he, Ron, and Hermione had believed Snape responsible for jinxing his broom in first year, when he was really saving Harry, to the incident in Dolores Umbridge’s office fifth year when Snape had alerted the Order, Snape had been working with the Light’s best interests in mind. 

The scene from the horrific night the Headmaster had died flashed through Harry’s mind for the umpteenth time. Chasing Snape, Draco Malfoy, and the other Death Eaters out of the Tower and across the grounds, Harry had left himself unbearably vulnerable. The fleeing man had blocked his every hex and curse, but had not attacked him, and he had not allowed anyone else to hurt him either. In the midst of his flight for freedom, Snape had still been trying to protect him.

“Blocked again and again and again until you learn to keep your mouth shut and your mind closed, Potter!”

The sentence ran through his mind for the hundredth time since that night, and Harry knew that it was exactly right. Snape and his alter ego, the Half-Blood Prince, had taught him more than anyone else ever had, more even than Albus Dumbledore. Snape was, in fact, one of the few constants he had had in the past six years. Snarky and surly as he had been, Harry knew that he always relied on the former professor to be there. 

He rose, picked up the cooling teacup, and walked over to stand beside Snape. Silently, Harry handed him the tea and concentrating, reheated it with a silent wave of his wand. Arching an eyebrow at him, Snape nodded and then sipped at the tea as he turned his attention back to the shelves.

“Pro…Devon, would you please consider teaching me to close my mind and help me work on my non-verbal magic skills?”

“We have tried that before, Potter, to our regret.” Snape didn’t bother to turn around.

“Yes, but we were both angry and bitter. I had no idea how to clear my mind like you kept telling me to, and you didn’t have the patience or interest to explain how. I was never taught how to do that before, sir, maybe you could help?” 

Snape turned his head slowly, and the golden eyes studied him intently. “Why would now be any different than before? Don’t tell me you are any less angry or bitter at me,” the older man sneered.

“I know that I have learned more in DADA in the past year than I have any time other than my third year, sir, and…and I learned more from the Half-Blood Prince in one year than I have ever learned before. You have the ability to teach me many things, and I have the aptitude to learn them, if we can put aside the bitterness you mentioned,” Harry met the piercing eyes, no less intimidating for their warmer color. “Especially when we have so much to lose if we don’t learn to trust each other.” 

Harry held that gaze for several long minutes, resisting the urge to drop it until Snape gave a brisk nod. 

“All right, Po…Harry, I will make a concerted effort.”

With a grin, Harry turned and was headed back to the sitting area when his foot slid on the smooth stone and the teacup went flying out of his hand. As if in slow motion, he watched in horror as the dark brown liquid flew towards the irreplaceable manuscripts on the shelves. Stop! He screamed in his head, his fingers outstretched toward the tea. The cup, saucer, and liquid instantly froze mid-air, and without taking time to think, Harry summoned it back to him with a silent Accio. The tea returned to the cup and cup to saucer, landing neatly in Harry’s hand as he gaped at it.

“It would seem, Potter, that you have some latent talent buried deeply, very deeply, inside you after all,” Snape sneered, although he too looked impressed.

“But I didn’t even say a spell!” Harry sputtered. “It just did what I was saying in my head!”

“Interesting.” Snape eyed him like an exhibit in the one zoo Harry had ever been to. “Do something else, something non-damaging.”

Harry glared at the older wizard, stung, and thought it would serve him right if he were to turn the man’s robes an Albus Dumbledore shade of bright pink. Instantly, the black robes turned a lovely fuchsia, and he could not help but burst out laughing. With a withering glare at him and his robes, Snape closed his eyes as Harry was trying to get a handle on his laughter, and his robes returned to their customary black. Looking up, Snape appeared as astounded as Harry at this display, and with an arched eyebrow, promptly turned Harry’s jeans to a violent shade of purple. A grin erupted again on his face and Harry, conceding the battle, threw his head back and laughed again.

“This is an extraordinary occurrence, I must admit. It is a well-known fact that the ambient and elemental magic contained in the bedrock beneath Hogwarts is exceptionally strong, which is why the Founders chose this site. This Chamber must amplify that magic even more.”

“Or we may just be sensitive to it here in Slytherin’s personal office,” Harry said thoughtfully.

Snape scowled at him, a slender, pale finger tracing over his bottom lip as he stood deep in thought. “If that is the case, then it would be to our benefit to commence our training here. It may be possible to establish this as our base of operation.”

“I wonder if there is an entrance to the Chamber from outside the castle,” Harry considered, glancing at the shelves of manuscripts and books.

“I will attempt to locate one, but first, we need to think of something to eat and sleeping arrangements,” said the former professor as he surveyed the room.

Harry, who had lost all track of time, was surprised to look at his watch and see that it was approaching the dinner hour. With another chuckle, he turned his jeans back to indigo blue, and concentrating hard, he waved of his hand, sent a silver stag in to the air. He met the other’s questioning gaze.

“I let Professor McGonagall know not to worry about us, that we were staying down here at least for tonight.”

The Slytherin gave a brusque nod of agreement and moved to the small table in the kitchen-like alcove. Harry followed, stopping between the table and the sitting area. Closing his eyes, he envisioned two camp beds placed side by side in front of the fireplace, and a small bathroom with a shower between the fireplace and the edge of the alcove. He heard a gasp at his elbow, and opened his eyes to see the area had changed to match his mental image. He shot Snape a satisfied smirk, amused that the bedding colors were gold and scarlet.

“Gryffindor colors in Slytherin’s lair? I think not, Mister Potter!” 

The colors changed to a deep green, but Harry was distracted from arguing when the aroma of roast beef wafted his direction. Harry found that he was truly hungry for the first time in a long time, and they ate their simple meal without conversation. The silence was not as strained as Harry would have expected it would be just the day before, and he reflected on what he had learned in the past two days. The hatred that had burned so brightly in him for the man sitting opposite of him had dissipated, to be replaced by a grudging respect for what the man had been forced to do. The trust he had always had in the former Potions professor, due in part to the Headmaster’s absolute faith in Snape, the trust so brutally crushed at the top of the of the Astronomy Tower, was returning. 

A flicker of blue in the periphery of his vision reminded Harry of their purpose. “How are we going to get through the protective field, Pro…Devon?”

“The spell to neutralize the shield is Dark Magic and requires a great deal of energy, Potter. It is not something that should be rushed.” Snape narrowed his eyes at him in a scowl. “It will wait until morning before we attempt it.”

“All right, although I don’t think anything could put a drain on our powers in here,” Harry muttered, studying the man’s profile as he resumed eating. “Is it really going to kill you to call me by my name?” 

The Slytherin ignored him, and Harry banished his dishes before moving over to the shelves of books. He studied the neatly arranged leather bound books, as well as stacks of parchment scrolls, and what looked like handwritten manuscripts, trying to find some kind of map for the Chamber. Gingerly looking over one of the pieces of parchment, he could see it written on a series of funny words that did not make any sense. Careful not to touch the centuries old paper, he attempted to pronounce what he saw, but it seemed like gibberish to him, until he focused for a moment on the carving of a snake on the wall before glancing back at the parchment. 

“Let the rock move…”

A rumble in the earth drew his attention away from the parchment, and Harry jumped, realizing with a start that the manuscript was written in Parseltongue. 

“Potter!” Snape appeared at his elbow, seizing his upper arm in a bruising grip. “What did you do?” he roared, sounding equal parts angry and scared.

Harry wrenched his arm away, torn between feeling chagrined and furious at the treatment. “I was just reading that piece of paper! How was I to know what it said, it’s in Parseltongue!”

“Just like my Advanced Potions book, Potter, testing unknown spells before you have any idea what they do! Grow up, Potter, and stop being such a child!”

Harry whirled on the former professor, his rage rising. “I was forced to grow up a long time ago, Snape, whether I wanted to or not! I lost any semblance of childhood that night in the graveyard when Voldemort returned, and my life has been nothing short of hellish in the past few months, as I trained and helped hunt for ways to become a murderer!” His chest was heaving.

The look Snape gave him was one of disbelief, questioning his abilities and his maturity. “You think you have the strength to kill him? You truly believe you will have the ability to be able to cast the curse that will be necessary without any firsthand knowledge of truly strong emotions?” A sneer curled the thin lips. “You may have experienced rage, Potter, grief, even happiness, but you have never experienced the true power of the universe, you have never experienced passion!”

Harry stared at the taller man, the pale face suffused with pink, and the golden eyes glittered with emotion. Listening not only to the words but the depth of feeling behind them, his thoughts went immediately to Ginny, and the warm, comfortable, pleasant sensation he had experienced when kissing her.

“You have no idea,” Snape spat at him, watching his face. “You’ve never experienced a feeling that is so deep and consuming that it overwhelms every other emotion and sane thought! Such a passion seizes you so tight you can’t breathe, and carries you away without conscious thought or desire; it is an out of control feeling that exhilarates you and frightens you at the same time. It is a fire that sears you from the inside, fuels your spirit and gives you a depth of strength you never knew before.” He paused, then finally whispered, “It becomes your reason for living.”

Snape’s voice trailed off as the man stared off into space with a glazed look in his eyes, and Harry felt the anger drain out of him as recognition dawned.

“The person you loved was taken from you.” It was a statement, as Harry realized what the man had revealed.

“Yes,” the older wizard whispered, not meeting his eyes, discouraging further conversation. 

By unspoken agreement, they returned to the sitting area, and Harry conjured two more cups of tea. Seating themselves in the chairs in front of the fire, Harry sipped on his tea as he stared into the flames, reflecting on what his former teacher had said. It was true; he had never felt the sharp emotions Snape had described to him. When he kissed Ginny, it had been a very pleasant experience, the feeling of arms around him, holding him, had made him feel loved, but it had not aroused him to a fever-pitch or made him lose his ability to think. A vague sense of unease filled Harry as he wondered if Dumbledore had been wrong all these years about love being his greatest power. In reality, perhaps he was incapable of real love, real passion, and in turn, unlovable.

Suddenly restless, Harry put down his cup and got up from the chair. He wandered into the outer Chamber, where the torches flared to life. Standing in the middle of the huge chamber, the basilisk carcass throwing eerie shadows in the flickering light, he looked around him. A dark stain on the stone floor caught his attention and he crouched down beside it. Reaching a hand out, he laid his hand on the spot where his blood had been shed four years before. The memory of Ginny lying on the cold stone flashed through his mind, and a cold shiver ran down his spine. Did the deep affection and protectiveness he felt towards Ron’s sister have more to do with their connection to this Chamber than to any true feelings between them?

“It is getting late, Po…Harry, we should try to get some sleep.” 

Harry looked up to see Severus Snape standing next to a gigantic stone leg, his face lost in shadows. He stood, his mind still deep in thought; brushing his hands off on his jeans, he silently followed the black-robed figure back to Slytherin’s study. The older wizard disappeared into the bathroom, and Harry stripped down to his boxers, his mind still dwelling on everything that had transpired in just the past two days. It seemed that the mask his former tormenter habitually wore had disintegrated in the past two days, and the resurrected one was much thinner, as Harry seemed to be able to better read the emotions hidden underneath. It disturbed Harry in a way he could not readily identify that he had discovered such a depth of emotion in the stoic man. 

The recognition of Snape as a living, breathing, feeling human being took Harry by surprise, and he found himself studying the older man as he stepped out of the bathroom a moment later. Rubbing a towel over his hair, the former Potions teacher was clad in a pair of sleep pants, his robes draped over his shoulder. As Snape turned and folded the clothing on the end of his bed, Harry could make out a number of pale scars running vertically across the older wizard’s back. With a start, Harry realized they were old scars, probably from his childhood, and were surely made with a belt. Harry had a few of those himself, reminders of the rare times Uncle Vernon had whipped him; Vernon had generally preferred to throttle him instead, because using his belt had winded him. Almost against his will, the emerald eyes slid over the lean, well-toned form, the long, slender legs and narrow feet.

Shaking his head in disbelief, Harry jumped up and practically dove into the bathroom, his face burning. He had no idea what had gotten into him, and decided to shove that particular urge to the back of his mind as he stepped into a hot shower. Clean and redressed in fresh boxers summoned from his bag, Harry padded back across the stone floor, surprised to find it warm, and slipped into an equally warm bed. Snape appeared to be asleep, his eyes closed as he lay stiffly on his back. 

“Close your eyes, Potter, and relax. Picture a place in your mind where you feel safe and warm, completely at ease.”

Harry had started at the sound of the low, even voice, but did as he was told, thinking of lying in his bed in the Gryffindor Tower.

“Now, put away each of the problems you are thinking about, in a drawer, on a shelf like a book, some where out of sight.”

Harry envisioned his trunk, and started tucking his concerns about Voldemort, his worries about the safety of his friends, and the search for the Horcruxes, putting them away in the trunk as instructed. Thinking of each concern as a separate and individual thing, he found it was not difficult to place them in the trunk like a book or an article of clothing. 

“Do the same for the emotions you are feeling; clear them from your conscious mind and put them away, out of sight.” 

His emotions were a bit more of a task, as Harry had trouble categorizing some of the feelings he was experiencing. Sorting them into piles of like feelings, whether it was anger or love, he folded them as well and put them in the trunk.

“Lock them away now, Harry, seal them in so no one else can see them, no one can use them against you.”

The low, silky voice had an almost hypnotic quality, and Harry found himself doing as instructed without difficulty.

“Now, picture yourself on your broom, flying free in the clear blue sky, the wind in your hair, and make that the focus of your thoughts as you go to sleep.”

The clearing of his mind was an odd sensation, but not an unpleasant one. Adding the picture of doing what he loved best there made it feel right. In fact, he felt lighter, at peace on a level he’d never attained before, knowing all his worries were locked safely away. Mumbling his thanks, Harry slipped into a deep sleep.


	8. Helga's Cup

* * *

For a change, the screams that woke Harry from a sound sleep were not his own. Propping himself up on a pillow, he peered blurry-eyed through the dim light cast by the fire’s dying embers to see his former professor flailing about on his bed. Another hoarse scream brought Harry to his feet and over to the older man whose body had stiffened and bowed. Harry knew well the telltale reaction of a body to being subjected to the Cruciatus Curse, and without thinking, threw himself on top of Snape.

Frantically trying to remember what Ron did when he had this type of nightmare, Harry softly murmured words of reassurance as he tried to hold the Slytherin down. Chest to chest, Harry reached up and pinned the man’s wrists with his hands, burying his face in the side of the warm neck to control Snape’s rolling head. Settling more firmly on top of the writhing form, Harry used his legs to stop the man’s thrashing legs. He took several glancing blows, the hardest a head butt to his left eye, but did not let go, continuing a steady monologue of soft words, interspersed with calling the wizard’s name sharply. Nothing seemed to work: the form beneath him was still racked by tremors, and Harry was tiring.

“You’re safe here, no one will harm you here with me, it’s just a dream…Severus, just a dream…”

At the sound of his given name, the older man finally stilled, his movement reduced to barely perceptible trembling, and Harry realized that they were both sweat-drenched and breathing hard. With a thought, he stoked the fire, so that they were soon bathed in golden light and gentle warmth.

“What…what do you think you’re doing, Po…Potter?” Snape’s voice was hoarse.

Harry sighed, relaxing his grip and letting his body sag, forgetting for a moment exactly where he was. It took two heartbeats for him to realize that he had melted flush onto the older man’s body so that they were now touching from their bare chests to where Harry’s legs were wrapped around Snape’s, their groins pressed tightly together. It took another heartbeat to feel the tingling in his skin wherever it touched the other’s flesh, and still another to recognize the reaction settling into that same nether region. Snape lay absolutely still, as if in shock, and Harry knew it was too much to believe the snarky bastard hadn’t noticed his strange reactions.

Harry leapt up, his mind whirling in confusion even as hid body protested the loss.

“I’m sorry, sir, but you were screaming and it looked like you were under the Cruciatus and I was afraid you would hurt yourself...”

Harry winced as his babbling ran out of steam and those shadowed eyes remained fastened on his face.

“Can I, uh, get you anything, sir?”

“Water,” Snape said in a low, croaky voice.

Harry concentrated for a moment, and a goblet of cool water instantly appeared in his hand. Stepping back to the cot, he was extremely conscious of the golden eyes that never left his face. The older man levered himself into a sitting position and held out his hand for the goblet. As Harry handed it to him, their fingers brushed with a jolt of sensation. Retreating to his own cot, the teenager slid beneath the blankets, wanting nothing more than to bury himself under the covers.

“Thank you.”

The words were softly spoken in a voice that contained none of its usual biting tone. 

“S’okay,” Harry mumbled distractedly. His mind was spinning, threatening to go into overload. The very first time he had felt the warm flesh of another being against his, the first time he had ever experienced a touch that intimate, and not only was it with Snape, but it felt so bloody good that he turned into a blubbering idiot! Good one, Potter, show him how mature you are, he berated himself. With a sad shake of his head, Harry did something he hadn’t allowed himself to do since his days of sleeping in the cupboard: he allowed himself to wonder how different his life might have been if his parents had lived. If he had enjoyed a normal childhood, not the mockery of one he had suffered. He imagined what it might have been like to be loved and cherished, his hair stroked, his skin touched lovingly by the hand of a parent, bruises kissed and scrapes bandaged; he longed for the normalcy of human touch. 

His chest constricted with grief, Harry ripped the futile thoughts from his mind ruthlessly and stuffed them into his mental trunk. That was why he was going to kill Voldemort, he reasoned, for taking his parents and his godfather, for making him grow up unwanted and unloved. It was why he would never have a relationship with Ginny Weasley or anyone else, because he neither knew how to love or how to be loved. This was the reason he had to concentrate on finding the remaining Horcruxes and destroying them, allowing the rest of the wizarding world to live their lives in peace. 

It took him longer than it had last night to clear his mind, to lock his turbulent thoughts and emotions neatly into the trunk. Finally at peace, he lay for a while listening to the steady breathing of his companion before he drifted off into a restless doze.

* * *

Snape was still sleeping when Harry woke up next, a vague headache throbbing behind his eyes. Quietly, he pulled clean clothes out of the pack he’d brought and made his way to the bathroom. Washing up, Harry felt tenderly around his left eye, grimacing at the purple ring there. He ran a brush through his hair half-heartedly, but nothing ever helped his unruly mop. 

The older wizard was awake and the camp beds gone when Harry exited the lavatory, his eyes quickly darting away from the golden eyes. He mumbled a greeting and was headed back to his bag when an arm shot across his field of vision. His chin was caught in an iron grip, and his breath caught as he felt tingling where their flesh met. A sharp intake of breath from Snape told him that he had felt the same thing, and Harry frowned. He did not have time to question, however, as his face was tilted toward the firelight.

“Did I do that?”

“It’s all right, really…” Harry tried to pull away, suddenly uncomfortable with his own reaction to the close proximately of their bodies.

“Close your eyes and hold still.” 

A wave of warmth flowed around his eye and bathed his cheek; the vague ache was suddenly gone, then the warm hand withdrew as well. Harry did not have to go look to know the bruise near his eye had been healed. He opened his mouth to thank Snape, but the man had already made his way into the bathroom, shutting the door. Staring at it, he shook his head, then busied himself with conjuring up a breakfast tray for them. When it was ready, he sat back down and thoughtfully sipped his sweetened tea. 

Neither of them mentioned the nightmare. The spent the morning working side by side to break down the protective field around the Hufflepuff cup. The former professor instructed Harry on what he needed to do in a hard, quiet voice that still held an edge to it, but it was not the snarling, hateful voice the younger man knew Snape was capable of. Harry tried hard to remember to call the man Devon as he obediently cast the counter spell over and over in a long string of Latin. Nothing appeared to happen, and the blue haze did not waver.

They stopped for a lunch of sandwiches and tea, and Harry once again paced out to the main room of the Chamber. Looking at the tall stone statue of the Hogwarts founder, he swore that the monkeyish face wore a hint of a smirk, mocking him for their failure. Glaring up at the figure, it suddenly struck Harry that here in the very heart of all that was Slytherin, his last remaining descendent would have taken a perverted pride in carrying on the founder’s tradition. Hurrying back into the study, he saw that Snape had gone back to studying the blue haze, his teacup in his hand. 

“The counter spell needs to be in Parseltongue, I think,” he said as he joined the wizard at the alcove.

“I don’t believe you have any idea as to the…”

Harry cut across the biting retort with a wave of his hand. “It just makes sense that the heir of Slytherin would leave his treasures here, under spells he believed that only he could reverse!” 

Snape glared at him, his eyes boring into Harry’s, and Harry did a mental check to make sure his mental trunk was firmly locked as he felt the brush of Legilimency. An elegant eyebrow was arched as Harry held his secrets without bothering to push the man out. With a gesture, Snape stepped back from the blue haze; and Harry moved forward, wondering exactly what he should say. He looked back at his silent companion.

“What is it you have been saying in Latin, sir?”

“Don’t tell me the Gryffindor Golden Boy has been remiss in his Latin lessons,” the older man sneered.

Harry closed his eyes tightly and taking a deep, steadying breath, pushed down his anger. “My primary education consisted of the bare basics required by law, _Devon_ , and I was not allowed to take any subject that would make me appear to be smarter than my cousin. You, of all people, should know how I was treated, as you have seen more of my childhood than anyone else. Please, could you just tell me?”

The golden eyes glared at Harry as if his early upbringing was his own fault. “The literal translation is cumbersome; essentially, you tell the spell to shut down.”

Harry nodded and turned toward the barrier, concentrating. “Guardian…”

A snort from the older wizard startled him. “English,” Snape clarified when Harry shot him a look.

Harry took a deep breath and tried again. “ _Guardian, allow me to enter this area_.”

Harry gasped out a breath he had not realized he was holding when the blue field crackled once, then disappeared. Taking an unconscious step forward, he was stopped by a restraining hand on his arm. 

“We do not know what protections may still be in place, Harry. Let us levitate it out.”

Surprised to hear his name, Harry nodded and stepped back, allowing Snape to float the golden cup out of the niche and onto the desk. Without touching it, the former professor passed his wand over the Hufflepuff artifact and frowned. He repeated the gesture with his hand before turning to Harry.

“If you would please cast a purgative charm on the cup, it should render it safe enough for us to touch after we destroy the Horcrux inside.”

Harry stepped forward and translated the strongest charm he could think of into Parseltongue. A flash of white light indicated it had worked, but something told Harry the object was still not safe to touch.

“We aren’t going to destroy the Horcrux in here are we?” 

“No,” Snape said, once again levitating the cup with a wave of his hand. “We will take it out of the Chamber for that.”

Harry followed him through the main chamber and past the basilisk, and out in to the tunnel beyond. Setting the cup down on the top of a flat rock well beyond the entrance, Snape stood back and turned to Harry.

“If you are correct that everything the Dark Lord did to this particular Horcrux was in Parseltongue, then you will need to destroy the soul within the artifact itself without destroying the vessel. It must be done that way to ensure that the entire Horcrux has been destroyed. Do you think you can do that?”

Harry shot a look at the expressionless face of Severus Snape. The statement had been made in a tone absent of any malice or anger, and he decided to take it at face value.

“Yes, sir, I think so,” Harry concentrated on the golden cup, raising his wand.

“ _Expel and destroy the evil soul contained within_.”

Nothing happened, and Harry glanced at Snape for guidance. The older man stepped forward and stood shoulder to shoulder with Harry. Flicking his wand in a complex pattern, the former professor chanted a string of Latin, and a dim flicker of light was seen from the cup.

“Maybe if we try it together?” Harry suggested, bring his own wand up.

He watched as Snape began his incantation first, waiting for a moment, then raised his own wand and hissed in Parseltongue. White light flared brilliantly, and Harry continued to repeat the same phrase until there was a vibrant burst of light so bright, he had to cover his eyes. Blinking madly to banish the spots that danced in his eyes, Harry peered at the rock ledge to see that the golden cup of Helga Hufflepuff was still intact. With a broad grin, Harry grabbed Snape’s arm exuberantly.

“We did it, didn’t we! Another Horcrux is gone!”

It was harder to hide the emotions in the golden eyes than the natural obsidian ones, and they were clearly alight with triumph, but the face had the familiar Death Eater glare on it. Harry let go of the man’s arm, but the victorious grin remained as he extended his fingers tentatively toward the cup, when Snape grabbed his hand, stopping it. The jolt of feeling raced up Harry’s arm and the older man dropped it hastily.

“I need to make sure it is safe, Potter!” Snape snapped as he stepped forward, moving his wand over the cup again to scan it for other curses or hexes. 

Harry stepped back, rubbing his suddenly sweaty palm on his jeans, and watched as his companion checked the artifact carefully before nodding at him. Picking it up gingerly, the teenager carried the cup back into the study and placed it carefully on the desk. It weighed hardly anything, and Harry could see that the badger and the handles had been crafted entirely by hand, each of the tool marks visible in the elaborate scrollwork. Moving out of the way, he watched as the former DADA professor lifted the cup carefully and began to thoroughly examine it. 

Walking back towards the small kitchen area, Harry put together a tea tray, thinking that he’d soon be afloat in the stuff. He was still elated over the destruction of the Horcrux. That meant that they had taken definitely destroyed three of the seven: the diary, Slytherin’s ring, and Hufflepuff’s cup. If the note left by Sirius’ brother was true, then the fourth Horcrux, Slytherin’s locket had also been destroyed. Thinking back to the heavy gold locket they had found in Grimmauld Place two summers ago, Harry knew that the protective fields and curses had to have been neutralized, as not one of them had been injured when they handled it; he could only hope that the pieces of Voldemort’s soul that it harbored had been destroyed as well. That left three outstanding Horcruxes, but did not take into consideration the fact the Voldemort might have used one when he resurrected himself in the graveyard after the third task. 

Harry shook his head to clear it. It was best to leave those kinds of logic puzzles to Hermione, who could out-think the best minds. Setting the tray down on the small table between the two chairs, he stared into the fireplace for several moments, going over the list of things to do in his head. The basilisk needed to be harvested, and they needed to find out if there was a way to access the Chamber from outside the castle. Without conscious thought, Harry cast a warming charm on the teapot, continuing his internal debate the best thing course of action. Knowing Snape would need to be directly involved with anything he did to the reptile in the main Chamber, Harry turned his attention to the other issue. 

With a frown of concentration, Harry stared at a pair of carved stone snakes on the front of the hearth, entwined like lovers. 

“I require a map of the Chamber of Secrets.”

The next instant, a large parchment scroll appeared in the air in front of him and Harry just managed to grab it before it fell to the floor. Setting down his teacup, Harry carefully unrolled the scroll to find a detailed drawing of the Chamber. Deciding to take it to the study to spread it out, he saw that Snape had just finished wrapping Hufflepuff’s cup in silken material that Harry assumed he had conjured. Setting the precious artifact to one side, Devon, Harry emphasized the name in his mind, helped him cautiously unroll the parchment. Scanning the map in front of him, Harry quickly oriented himself, surprised at detail of the diagram. It marked out each of the tunnels, the position of the giant statue, the study they were currently in, and even the placement of each of the pillars. 

With a slim finger, Harry traced the path of the pipes that came down from Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom and the tunnel that lead to the entrance of the Chamber. He followed a secondary tunnel around the outside of the Chamber and down to where a smaller winding path branched off of it towards the castle. It was labeled in Parseltongue as Dungeons. Following the same secondary tunnel as it wound further around the outer edge of the Chamber, Harry felt a thrill as he found it led to an outside entrance. It was impossible to tell exactly where the entrance was, but he was sure it was somewhere near the Forbidden Forest.

“Look, here, a tunnel to the castle and one that looks like it leads outside!”

The older wizard bent over the map and examined it the area Harry was indicating. Too excited to explain the Parseltongue label, Harry was already planning out their afternoon. If they could make it through the tunnel to Snape’s old laboratory, they could gather what they needed to harvest the basilisk. Then they would need to see if the tunnel to the outside was passable, so they could use the Chamber as a hidden base of operations when the term started; it would give him, Ron, and Hermione the chance to at least appear to have returned to Hogwarts.

“If we started now, we could probably get through this tunnel into the castle this afternoon if it isn’t too bad, and then we could-”

“This isn’t some grand adventure, Potter, and we don’t have the time to do anything as childish as exploring! Grow up, you-”

Harry felt his rage flare white-hot, his magic swirling wildly, and he tried to contain it as he cut across the snarky retort.

“Just give it a rest, Snape! I am tired of you ripping into me like that without cause! This tunnel leads to the dungeons, you git, where we can get whatever you need to harvest that bloody snake out there!” He rounded on the taller man, his anger palatable. “I have been trying my best to do as Dumbledore asked, to work together like we are supposed to, but I just can’t seem to do anything without you finding fault with it! What do I have to do for you to recognize that we are working together?’

Emerald locked with golden eyes, but Harry refused to look away or back down from the challenge. He felt a brush of magic, an attempt at Legilimency probably, which he repelled. As they glared at each other, Harry could see the emotion flickering in those eyes, then Snape conceded, breaking eye contact.

“Old habits and opinions are sometimes hard to break, Mister Potter, and I am guilty of allowing them to color my judgment. You are correct; we do need to work together, and I will attempt to refrain from being…critical,” Snape told him in a quiet voice.

Harry gaped at him, knowing this was as close to an apology as he was likely to get from the snarky prat, and tried to accept with the nonchalant manner of an adult by inclining his head. He turned back to the map, drawing the older man’s attention again to the tunnel in question. Pointing out the label, Harry explained what it said, asking if Snape knew which hallway it was. Studying the map for several minutes, the Slytherin came to the conclusion that this was in fact the hallway adjacent to his old chambers in the dungeons, currently vacant. With a grin, Harry retrieved his invisibility cloak and they made their way together out of the study, map in Harry’s hand.

* * *


	9. Another Vision

* * *

Harry stepped wearily out of the scalding hot spray and shut off the shower, casting a drying spell with the wave of a hand. He was exhausted; every muscle ached as he slipped on a clean pair of boxers and gathered his dirty clothes. In the past thirty-six hours he had worked his arse off, driven by both the feeling that they were already running out of time and by the exhortations of the caustic man working at his side. Trudging to his camp bed, Harry dropped the clothes on the floor, tumbled into the cot, and buried his face in his pillow.

Snape, he had decided, was truly a bloody Death Eater! Yesterday they had found the tunnel to the dungeons yesterday relatively intact, with only a few minor rockslides to be cleared. The tunnel itself had opened into a corridor near the Slytherin common room, a short distance from what had been Snape’s private workroom for many years. Slipping into the castle under Harry’s cloak, Snape had dismantled Slughorn’s wards so they could retrieve the storage vials and containers that were needed to harvest the basilisk. Aside from the Bloody Baron floating placidly at the other end of the hallway, they had not encountered anyone during their time in the castle.

The previous evening had brought the first of the wandless and non-verbal magic lessons for Harry, who had found he performed very well in the ambient magic of the Chamber of Secrets. He had not fared quite as well when the former professor had forced him to go to the outer tunnel to practice, finding he needed his wand for the more complicated transfiguration spells. _Hermione would be delighted that he had practiced_ , he thought sourly, recalling all the conjuring and casting he had done, interspersed with dodging the hexes the other man threw at him. Harry had been pleased to find he was able to clear his mind now, when Snape insisted on a session of Occlumency, and had been able to force the older wizard from his mind after his third attempt.

Their entire day today had been spent carving up the bloody great serpent Harry had killed four years ago. It had been difficult, disgusting work; Snape had insisted the harvesting be done completely by hand, so as not to taint any of the potential potion ingredients with magic. The pair had worked side by side, with minimal conversation, straight through until early evening, when the Potions master had declared they had retrieved enough of the basilisk for their purposes. They had used magic to move the remainder of the carcass to a niche in the main room of the Chamber, scourgifying their work area before returning to the inner chamber to clean up. Harry had headed immediately to the shower, while the older man carefully completed the packaging and storage of the containers. 

Sighing into his pillow, Harry rolled over and stared at the ceiling, contemplating the remaining tasks they had set for themselves. He was still thinking about clearing a tunnel to an exit from the castle when he fell asleep.

* * *

The searing pain in his forehead was excruciating, the images playing through his mind horrific, and Harry was trapped in the hellish scene. It had been over a year since he had experienced a Voldemort-induced vision, and every nerve ending screamed in agony as crimson eyes watched as Crucio after Crucio was cast. Slytherin’s chambers echoed with Harry’s screams, companions to the ones he could hear in his vision. He tried to push the images out, to retreat back into the safety of his own mind. Frantically, he made sure his mental trunk was shut and sealed, but he could not stop the scene he was forced to witness.

Rough hands shook him hard, then held him down. Harry struggled against them, his forehead feeling as if it were splitting in two. He focused on the tightness of the grip on his shoulders, using it to help pull him from the horror. His stomach churning, he wrenched away just in time to lean over the side of his cot and retch. Kinder hands eased him back down to lay flat. Breathing in harsh, ragged gulps, Harry forced his blurry eyes open to see a face close to his, golden eyes peering anxiously into his own. He groaned as awareness began to return.

“Harry?”

Two slender hands splayed on the bare skin of his chest, warmth pulsing between them.

“Devon?” His voice sounded hoarse and needy even to his own ears, and Harry tried to sit up, but was held fast.

“A vision?” asked a quiet voice.

Nodding his head, Harry tried to ignore the sensations radiating from the other man’s touch, which was oddly soothing. One hand remained in the center of his chest as the other slid around to cup the back of his head and neck, helping him slowly sit up. He almost cried at the loss when reassuring touch left his chest to press a vial to his lips. Harry drank without question, his mind reeling at the comfort he was receiving from the man beside him. The pain in his head retreated and Harry sighed, relaxing until he felt the tingle of magic as a finger traced along the scar on his forehead, then brushed at the corner of his eye.

“You were crying.”

The full impact of the vision came back, and the horror of it must have been evident in his eyes.

“Can you tell me about it?”

Harry shook his head.

“Will you show me?” 

There was a note in the voice that made Harry’s head come up to look Devon in the eye. Although the emerald eyes gave permission, the trepidation in them clearly was apparent.

“ _Legilimens_ ,” was whispered apprehensively.

Harry found himself once again in the middle of a dark chamber, its contents illuminated by a single flickering torch high on the closest wall. A circle of black-robed, white-masked Death Eaters stood ready, their wands held loosely at their sides. Harry surveyed the scene coldly, watching as the boy was thrown at his feet, his distinctive white-blond hair flashing in the torchlight. The circle moved in tighter as Draco Malfoy rose on unsteady legs to stand before him, his mother screaming as she was physically restrained by two black-garbed figures.

“You failed in your mission, young Draco. You bragged to your friends of my trust in you, and then you failed in your duty. You have disgraced your father as well as your name, and I cannot allow such weakness in one of my faithful. I cannot let such arrogance and stupidity go unpunished.” 

“My Lord, it was Snape who prevented me from completing my task! It was Snape who stole the moment of glory from me!” Malfoy’s voice was tinged with desperation.

“Severus salvaged what you had bungled, boy! He protected you, he tried to aid you with your mission, but you in your arrogance refused him! His secure place as a spy in the Order of the Phoenix was compromised when he had to finish your work! But he is no longer here to protect you.” Crimson eyes scanned the circle. “Bellatrix, my faithful servant, you may begin the punishment.”

A shorter figure stepped forward, her mask swept from her face in a smooth gesture to expose her dark, heavily lined face. Without a second’s hesitation, Bellatrix Lestrange raised her wand to her nephew.

“ _Crucio_!”

Harry watched with renewed horror as the images of his year-mate being tortured flashed by, and knew he could not endure much more. Sorrow at the useless waste of life welling up in him, pushed gently to expel the older wizard from his mind. As awareness returned to him, Harry found Snape draped over his chest, both of them gasping. Glancing down, he could see the other man’s face screwed up in pain, his eyes tightly closed, a curtain of golden brown hair falling forward to obscure his expression. 

With a trembling hand, Harry awkwardly brushed the hair out of Sna…Devon’s face, trying to comfort him. Harry might have despised Draco Malfoy, but he knew that the Head of Slytherin had cared enough about him to make the Unbreakable Vow to protect him. 

“He is dead.”

It was a statement, and Harry closed his eyes, his hand still entwined in the soft hair. “Yes.”

“His mother as well?” 

“Yes, I’m sorry.”

There was no mistaking the sincerity of his words; Harry knew what it was to lose someone he cared about. Both wizards were silent, absorbing support from each other for several long moments before Snape pulled away. Harry sat up, dropping his head into his hands. He had refrained from telling the older man that it had been Bellatrix who had been given the honor of killing her own sister and nephew. The bile rose in his throat again, but he forced it back down, making a silent vow to his godfather as well as the latest victims that he’d make the bitch suffer.

By unspoken agreement, they dressed silently. Harry knew there was no way he would be able to go back to sleep, even though dawn was still an hour off. He accepted the cup of sweetened tea Snape handed him. 

“How long has it been since you have had one of those visions, Harry?”

Harry rubbed at his prickling scar with the ball of his hand. “It has been over a year, actually. Not since the Department of Mysteries.”

“So there is no doubt that the Dark Lord wanted you to see that,” Snape muttered.

Harry glanced up in surprise, taking in the golden eyes that glittered in the pale face, for once free of the dislike and scorn so often directed at Gryffindors. The mask of indifference seemed to have been completely shattered by the two additional deaths. 

“Yeah, I guess Voldemort had to have lowered his Occlumency shields on purpose for me to see that, but I am not sure why.”

Snape’s lip curled in a sneer. “To play with your emotions, of course; to make you angry enough to act recklessly, as you have in the past. The Dark Lord believes he can defeat you if he can make you angry and, therefore, easily provoked and over-confident.”

Harry ignored the sneer in favor of considering the words. “He is going to use you as the bait to draw me out! That is why he did not call you to this…to what happened. Voldemort believes that I would do anything to kill you now, after…after what happened at Hogwarts.”

“Yes, I believe that is why he sent me into hiding, to intensify your desire to find me.”

Nodding sheepishly, Harry acknowledged the accuracy of that assessment. The Gryffindor knew that if he had known where the older wizard had been a week ago, he would have tried to do just that. 

Finishing their tea, the two wizards made their way out into the tunnel that circled around the outside of the Chamber. Harry hoped that some manual labor would push the remnants of the vision from his mind. They only had today and tomorrow before they would have to leave the Chamber and return to the house they had inherited from Albus Dumbledore, as Harry was due at the Burrow on Saturday for Bill and Fleur’s wedding.

Following the curve of the passage as it passed the tunnel that led to the dungeons, they pushed out toward a secondary tunnel outlined on the map in Harry’s hand. The doorway stood open, and Snape lit his wand tip as he stepped over the threshold, Harry peering over his shoulder. The passageway was strewn with rubble, much like the section of tunnel below the pipe that came down from Moaning Myrtle’s lavatory. With a sigh, Harry drew his own wand and concentrated on levitating the closest rock with a non-verbal _Wingardium Leviosa_ , then banishing it. 

The two wizards worked steadily for several hours, clearing the tunnel of the rock debris and dirt that had accumulated over the years. Both were lost in their own thoughts, but the silence that stretched between them was not strained. It still surprised Harry that he could view this man he had disliked, no, hated, for so many years, as a human being. In reality, was he just as guilty of hiding behind a mask as Snape was? Harry thought of how he had felt when the Daily Prophet had printed terrible stories about him, and the expression of indifference he had worn most of his fourth and fifth years of school. Snape’s chosen mask was combined with a sneering, nasty personality designed to push everyone away. And it worked remarkably well, thought the teenager as he started on another pile of rocks. 

It was late afternoon before the two men came to a stone door at the end of the tunnel. Snape stepped forward to examine the entwined snakes carved into the frame of the door, tentatively trailing a finger along the carved fangs of one of the serpents. Harry watched the older man, wiping the back of his hand across his sweating forehead. His back hurt, his arms were sore, he was filthy, tired and hungry. Some of his impatience and exhaustion must have reflected on his face, as Snape waved him forward, pointing at the door.

“ _Open_ ,” he hissed in Parseltongue.

For several long seconds, nothing happened, but then with a great grinding of stone, the door slid back into the rock wall. A rush of cool, fresh air ruffled Harry’s hair, and he inhaled the sweet smell of fresh air, a delicious contrast to the dank, humid air of the tunnel. The older wizard stepped in front of him, his wand in his hand as he stepped cautiously over the threshold. It seemed as dark outside as in the unlit tunnel. They had to be deep in the Forbidden Forest, Harry thought as he followed Snape out the door. 

Stepping away from the tunnel entrance, Harry could see that they were deep in a copse of old trees. As he squinted through the dim light, Harry had the feeling that he’d been there before, and he careful looked around. Adjacent to the entrance to the boulders that hid the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, was the wide mouth of a deep cave. Something inside Harry froze with horror as the memory of his second year came to flying out of his mental trunk. Aragog, the head acromantula, had lived in that cave with all his millions of descendents. Very hungry, bloodthirsty descendents! A movement at the lip of the cave caught his eye, and Harry gasped.

“Dev…!” He dove in the direction the older wizard had taken, grabbing a handful of robe as he yanked Snape back into the doorway. 

“What did you do that for?” the taller man snapped, brushing off his robes with his hands and setting himself to rights. 

“There was something moving in the cave over there,” Harry told him as he tried to slow his pounding heart. “The acromantula that Hagrid released into the Forest when he was expelled from Hogwarts made a den in that cave; now that he is dead, there is nothing to stop the others from making us an afternoon snack!”

The former professor leaned cautiously over the threshold and peered toward the mouth of the cave. He could, in fact, see many multi-legged creatures of various sizes moving around the entrance now that they had been pointed out. Harry watched as Snape carefully drew his wand and flicked it in a series of concentric circles, and he could see a shimmering translucent barrier take form. With a final flick, Snape stepped forward and watched the creatures for any sign of alarm, but none came.

“That should protect us from any manner of wild creatures, four- or eight-legged,” he turned towards Harry. “You are familiar with this portion of the Forbidden Forest?”

Harry could hear the delicate emphasis on the word ‘familiar’. “Uh, Ron and I were sent by Hagrid to see Aragog when the Chamber was opened in my second year. He told us that though Hagrid had been blamed and expelled for the Chamber being opened, Tom Riddle was really to blame. Aragog protected Hagrid from his children, who wanted to eat Ron and me. With him dead now, I would not want to be caught this close to their den.”

His former teacher gave him a hard look, but did not question Harry further. “So you would be able to Apparate to this spot if we needed to get back into the Chamber without going through the castle?”

“Yes,” Harry said without hesitation.

The golden eyes swept over him. “You have managed to successfully Apparate, haven’t you?”

Harry tried not to react to the question or what he perceived as the implied meaning. “Yes, I have, Devon, and I was able to Apparate with Dumbledore from the cave on the coast that night, too.”

An eyebrow arched, and if it had been anyone else, Harry would have said that they looked impressed, but this was Snape, after all. Without another word, he stepped back into the tunnel, leading the way back towards Slytherin’s Chamber. The echoing footsteps behind him told him the older wizard was following him, and Harry moved immediately to the bathroom, where he showered off the dirt and sweat of the day’s exertions. When he came out, Harry could see that his companion had tidied up the study, banishing the camp beds and restoring a blue shield in the alcove area, where a small replica of Hufflepuff’s cup sat.

Checking to make sure he had everything packed into his bag, Harry paused to send a Patronus to McGonagall, letting her know they would be headed towards her office soon, and asked her to make sure the corridors were clear. As he circled the room one last time, Harry saw Snape step out of the bathroom. He reflected that the man looked almost human, dressed was he was in black trousers and a beige pullover. With a flick of his wand, the Slytherin made the bathroom disappear, returning the room to its original state. Snape looked up and met his eyes, and Harry gave him a slight nod, taking one last look around the room, before following him back out into the main Chamber.

Levitating the three carefully packed boxes of basilisk parts between them, the two wizards made their way back to the place they had left their brooms. The return journey seemed much quicker than the one down had been, and before Harry knew it they were riding the moving staircase to the Headmistress’ office. Professor McGonagall was sitting behind her desk working through a large stack of parchment when they entered. She looked up and gave them a small smile as she rose to greet them, and Albus Dumbledore watched with great interest from his portrait behind the desk as the two wizards sat down.

Harry quickly described the details of their successful mission, pulling Helga Hufflepuff’s golden cup from his bag and handing it carefully to the Headmistress. A tray of tea and sandwiches appeared on the edge of the large desk, making him realize that they had worked through breakfast and lunch. He gratefully took the plate and cup Snape handed him, and munched happily as McGonagall examined the Founder’s treasure. Tired, but elated that they had completed the task assigned them by Dumbledore, Harry glanced at his silent companion. The older man had his eyes trained on the floor in front of the desk, and he was slowly eating the half of a sandwich, the strain of being in this office on the man quite apparent.

“Do you mean that you want this to remain here at Hogwarts, Mister Potter?” McGonagall asked him incredulously.

“Yes, ma’am, I think that this is where Helga Hufflepuff wanted it to be. Plus, it is safest here, since we can not let Voldemort know we have discovered it.”

“I would have to agree with Harry, Minerva,” Dumbledore interjected, “although it would be nice to someday return it to Hepzibah Smith’s family, to whom it rightfully belongs.”

“I am sure that could be arranged, Albus,” McGonagall sniffed, still cradling the cup in her hand. “Sev…Devon, I have a matter than I need to address with you.”

For the first time since entering the room, Snape looked up and met the witch’s eyes, a blank expression on his face.

“It would seem that the Board of Governors is now convinced that, despite the breeching of Hogwarts defenses, our students, including Harry Potter, would be safer here than anywhere else, and they will allow us to open in September. I find myself needing to replace two members of the staff, as Horace Slughorn has refused to stay, and until Severus Snape can be exonerated, he won’t be able to teach,” she narrowed her eyes at the dark haired man. “I was hoping Potions master Devon Prince would consent to teach potions when Hogwarts reopens.”

Harry had to bite his tongue not to laugh at the look of disbelief that crossed the older man’s face before he schooled his features. 

“If you believe it will be feasible, Minerva, I believe I could manage.”

“We will make it work, Devon,” she told him briskly, before turning to Harry. “You will be here as well, Mister Potter, and as Head Boy, you will have your own room. You will be able to continue whatever extracurricular activities you must. Miss Granger will be Head Girl, and will be accorded the same privileges.”

Harry found himself grinning from ear to ear until he remembered the promise he had made to himself the day of Dumbledore’s funeral. He was torn between that promise and his previous acceptance of the McGonagall's offer. He sobered quickly and opened his mouth reluctantly to decline the honor, conscious of the portrait on the wall watching him closely. The wizard sitting beside him eyed him as well.

“You will need a place that you can operate out of, Harry, one with the resources Hogwarts can offer,” Dumbledore told him softly.

“Here, you and Devon, as well as Mister Weasley and Miss Granger, will be safer than any place else, Harry. Please keep in mind that Voldemort will continue to target this school for reasons of his own,” Professor McGonagall added.

“It would be to your best advantage to accept the offer, Harry.” 

Snape surprised him with his quietly spoken statement, and Harry was sure his jaw dropped. He nodded slowly as he continued to stare at his former nemesis, speechless at the change in the snarky bastard’s manner.

* * *


	10. Weddings and Introductions

* * *

Saturday morning, Harry stood to one side of The Burrow’s sitting room as the female members of the Weasley clan, along with the normally sane Hermione Granger, spiraled out of control. The chaos had not stopped since he Flooed in yesterday afternoon, and after a round of hugs, was put immediately to work. He had not had the opportunity to speak to either Ron or Hermione, and had not even been alone with either one to tell them about the Horcrux that he and Snape had destroyed in the Chamber of Secrets. With idle curiosity, Harry stood beside Ron and watched as Missus Weasley worked herself into near hysterics over the floral arrangements. From what he could gather, the magenta roses should have been mauve, and the undesirable color change apparently did serious damage to the entire color scheme of the wedding.

Bemused, Harry’s thoughts drifted back over the events of the last few days. He had helped Snape with the final preparation of the various bits and pieces of the basilisk. The Potions master was waiting for the return of Hedwig, who had carried a letter from Harry to Horace Slughorn, whom Harry had written about marketing the potions ingredients. They had extracted one intact venom sac, which Snape had refused to sell, even after they had milked the venom into a number of vials. Apparently, it was an incredibly powerful poison and in the wrong hands could lead to many deaths. The two wizards had worked together amicably for the most part, with only an occasional burst of temper from either of them. 

Snape’s slowly evolving demeanor continued to surprise Harry. Although he was as prickly and sarcastic as ever, there was less bite behind it, as if Harry had become less of an irritant and more of an individual worthy of the man’s time. The forced togetherness had also shown Harry that Snape was a living, feeling human being, dealing with the death of the person he had cared for more than anything; worse, that person was dead at Sev- _Devon’s_ own hand, all but paralyzing him with grief and guilt. It had been hard for the teenager to be witness to the shattering of the cold mask the older wizard wore when the portrait of Albus Dumbledore came to life and forgave the man. His illusions had been irretrievably destroyed when Harry had agreed to accept the Fidelity Vow made when he was an infant, and swore to protect Snape with his very life. In turn, Harry felt like the five days he had spent in the older man’s company had shown the Slytherin that he was not James Potter, but Harry, a unique individual. For a moment, he debated whether he would have been the arrogant jerk Snape always accused him of being, had he been raised by his mum and dad. With a soft smile, Harry rather doubted that Lily Evans Potter would have allowed that to happen. 

“Oh for Merlin’s sake, have you completely forgotten that we are wizards!” 

Arthur Weasley’s bellow cut through the bedlam and drew Harry out of his reflections. With the flick of his wand, the roses were the perfect shade of pink and the females of the house all smiles. Ron rolled his eyes at Harry, who just backed up against the wall to avoid being trampled by the gaggle of women. Following his best friend, the two teenagers slipped out into the garden, which had been transformed into a setting for a garden wedding, with a flower-laced archway and rows of seats. Charlie and the twins were on the far side, setting up the tables that were to be used for the reception. 

Glancing around, Ron waved his wand. “ _Muffliato_!” 

Harry followed him over to the farthest chairs in the area, closest to the flower-bedecked archway. He sat down and closed his eyes, weariness permeating his body. Bunking in the same room as Ron and the twins had not been conducive to sleep, and Harry had not fully caught up on his sleep since he had left Slytherin’s Chamber. Afraid that he would wake everyone up by having a nightmare, Harry had done no more that doze fitfully. 

“You look worse than you did when we left school, mate!” Ron told him with a nudge. “Were the Muggles terrible again?”

Harry opened his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. “No, not really, I wasn’t there long enough for them to do anything,” he yawned tiredly. “It’s just been a long week.”

“Are we still leaving right after the wedding this afternoon?” Ron asked, puzzled. 

“Yes,” Harry began only to be interrupted by the sight of Missus Weasley bearing down on them, ending any further chance of a private conversation.

It was nearing sunset when the last of the guests left the reception, Bill and Fleur having made their escape hours earlier. As always, Harry had been amused by Ron’s reaction to the close proximity of his part-Veela sister-in-law, while Harry felt no more than an impartial admiration of her beauty. They had cleaned up The Burrow as well as the garden under the watchful eye of Molly Weasley, and were now ready to leave. Ron’s family believed they were headed for Headquarters to further research the last ‘project’ Albus Dumbledore had given them, as did Hermione’s, and all of their trunks were already waiting for them there. After enduring two rounds of hugs from both Molly and Ginny, Harry threw a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace and stepped in.

“Number twelve, Grimmauld Place!”

He tumbled into the kitchen of the Black family home, shuddering at the depressing darkness that surrounded him. A single torch lit the large room enough that he could just make out the outline of three school trunks sitting beside the table. The fire flared again, and Hermione stepped gracefully out of the fire, dressed casually now in jeans that molded her long legs and a soft pink top. Her face lit up with a smile and she waved the torches up as she made her way over to stand beside him, leaving Harry to wonder when she had become such an attractive young woman. Sliding an arm around his waist, she tucked herself into his side, the top of her head now coming to his chin. Harry wrapped an arm around her shoulder and soaked up the silent support as they watched Ron tumble from the fireplace. He eyed the two of them as he brushed himself off, and Harry wanted to laugh at his friend’s sour expression, hoping for Hermione’s sake that Ron would figure out his feelings soon.

Moving both of them forward, Harry gestured for them to sit down at the table, while he paced in front of the fireplace. “Hermione, I am not sure who else may be in the house, will you put up a silencing charm, please.”

The young witch took out her wand and did as he asked, her concerned eyes following his movements. Ron exchanged a glance with her before looking back at Harry; both knew him well enough to know he’d talk when he was ready. After several minutes, he took a deep breath and launched into what had happened to him since he had gotten off the Hogwarts Express. Hermione gasped at the news that Fawkes had retrieved him, and Ron stood up so fast he sent his chair flying when he heard that Snape had been waiting for him. A pointed glare from Harry calmed the redhead enough for him to retrieve his chair and turn it around, straddling it as his friend continued talking. 

It took the better part of an hour to relate everything that had happened, and another half an hour to convince Ron that Snape was truly on their side, which required an explanation of the Oath they both had taken. Hermione readily accepted that information, instead focusing on the Chamber of Secrets, specifically the books left by the Hogwarts founder. Smiling, Harry answered as many of their questions as he could before dropping tiredly into one of the chairs.

“So Snape is waiting for us at Dumbledore’s house now?” Ron asked him for the third time.

“Devon, Ron,” Harry sighed. “Devon Prince is waiting for us, and you have to remember that, otherwise it could get him and us killed. It was bad enough that Draco Malfoy and his mother were needlessly murdered to appease that sick bastard, I don’t want anymore deaths on my conscience.” 

“Now that we know why Professor Dumbledore always put the utmost trust in Snape, we have no reason to ever question his loyalty again, Ronald, especially since that loyalty has been pledged to Harry as well,” Hermione said as she stood up. “And we could not have asked for a better person to help us search for the remaining Horcruxes. We need to do more research on where the other two are, and since Harry can’t do magic or Apparate legally for another month, I think we need to get started right away.”

Nodding, Harry stood up, grabbed his trunk, and muscled it into the fireplace. He tossed a handful of Floo powder in, clearly saying, “The Dumbledore House.”

The sitting room was empty as he fell out of the fireplace, dropping his trunk in the process. Hermione quickly followed him, with Ron stumbling out a moment later, dropping his trunk as well. Looking around the room, Harry could see signs of occupancy; a book sat open on the table next to an armchair, and a fully restored Fawkes trilled a soft greeting from his perch in the corner. As his friends were taking a look around, Harry started toward the kitchen. Just then the door opened, and Severus Snape stepped out, dressed in a soft brown pullover and black slacks. Harry was surprised to feel his stomach leap at the sight of the older man.

“Devon,” Harry said, a smile coming unconsciously to his lips.

“Harry, I see you have returned in one piece.” The golden eyes, not quite as cold as they one might have been, swept over his friends. “Miss Granger, Mister Weasley.”

“Professor,” Hermione answered hesitantly, as Ron gawked at the change in the man’s appearance.

There was a chuckle from the portrait above the fireplace as Albus Dumbledore made his presence known. Ron and Hermione turned toward him, eyes wide as the Headmaster greeted them. Hermione exchanged greetings with the portrait, while Ron turned back toward the kitchen where the other two stood, taking in all the unlikely details.

“I trust you were successful in getting William properly married, Mister Weasley?”

Ron nodded jerkily at Dumbledore’s question, his eyes still on Snape, unsure what to make of this new image the greasy git was presenting. The Slytherin moved back toward the kitchen and Harry followed him, breathing deeply of the savory aroma that greeted him. The door to the garden stood open, letting in the warm breeze; leaning a hip against the counter, Harry relaxed and enjoyed the breeze. The Potions Master stepped to a gently simmering cauldron and gently stirred the mixture, surreptitiously studying the tired face of the Boy Who Lived. 

“If you have any appetite left, that manic house-elf of yours brought Beef Wellington and fresh asparagus, and I have a sauce almost completed for it.”

“I am sure we can help you eat it, at least I can; I did more serving than eating at the reception,” Harry told him, moving to the cupboard to gather plates. “Ron and Hermione seem to be okay with what is going on, although I think Ron may be a bit timid at first. You have always been rather a prat to us.”

The snort of amusement behind him was not the response he would have expected from the old Snape, but Harry reasoned that this man had undergone a series of life-changing experiences in the past couple of weeks. Harry froze as he set cutlery done on the table, realizing that he had experienced the same life-altering situations, although to a lesser degree. The kitchen door opened as Harry pondered this thought; his brow furrowed as he considered at the changes he had noticed in Snape, and he wondered if he were acting differently too. Ron and Hermione looked around the room before the witch made her way to the door and glanced out into the walled garden.

“Oh, Harry! The garden is absolutely beautiful!” She turned back into the room, pleasure lighting her face. “Did you say Dumbledore left this to you?”

Harry took the platter of meat and pastry that Snape held out to him. “Actually, he left it to both Devon and me,” he told her, a faint emphasis on the man’s new name.

They settled at the table and began to eat, Snape and Harry on one side with Ron and Hermione on the other. Spooning some Beef Wellington into his mouth, Harry remembered what Snape had told him. He almost choked as he tried to swallow without chewing.

“Did you say Dobby brought dinner?” he managed to get out.

“Yes,” the older man answered, delicately cutting a stalk of asparagus. “If I am able to accurately translate his babblings, he had tracked down Mundungus Fletcher, whom he has locked in a closet at Grimmauld Place, waiting your return.”

Harry half stood. “We were just there! He has the locket?”

Snape shook his head. “It is not currently among Fletcher’s belongings, and Dobby was unable to extract the name of the person to whom he sold it. How Dobby attempted to gain that information, I am not sure I wish to know.”

Harry nodded, knowing he would just have to wait until Dobby returned to get any more news. He wondered where Kreacher had gotten to now that Draco Malfoy was dead, but did not have the stomach to call him at the moment. Hermione was shooting glances between him and Snape, fairly bursting to say something. Harry sighed.

“Go ahead, Hermione, spit it out before you explode!”

She shot him a filthy look, and Harry was hard pressed not to snigger.

“Actually, it is about you coming back to Hogwarts, Prof…uh, Devon,” the witch stammered. “It’s just that Professor Snape had such a…unique teaching style, it will be immediately recognized when you return, unless you work to change it.”

A golden brown eyebrow arched elegantly. “And how would you suggest I go about changing the way I teach?” Snape’s question had a trace of the old sneer in it, but the voice did not come across as harsh as it had in the past.

Hermione looked back at the older wizard blankly, meeting the golden eyes for the first time since they had arrived. Harry glanced between the two, his forehead creased in thought. He knew his best friend was right, and if Professor Prince did not want to be discovered…

“I know how,” he thought out loud. “You need to teach like you wrote!”

Three pairs of eyes turned to him, staring at him with expressions ranging from disbelief to skepticism. Feeling the heat in his cheeks, the teenager swallowed the bite of beef in his mouth, and gestured with his fork.

“Just teach the way you wrote in your _Advanced Potion Making_ text book, Devon; teach as if you were the Half-Blood Prince!”

Hermione scoffed at the idea, clearly forgetting that Severus Snape was the infamous character whom Harry had been quoting for over nine months. Ron looked thoughtfully at Snape, his face scrunched up in thought.

“You were bloody brilliant with that, you know, uh, Devon. Harry was even better in Potions that Hermione while he was using your old book. Not to mention those spells you invented, or at least most of them,” Ron frowned, ignoring the thunderous expression on the Potions master’s face. “That one that Harry used on Malfoy…”

“Ron!” 

Harry yelled, cutting him off, a horrified look on his face. He did not want Ron to mention the Malfoys and remind the older man of what had happened. No matter what Draco Malfoy had done, it had hurt Snape that the teenager had been murdered, and Harry was loathe to punish him further by allowing it to be brought up again.

“I used a spell that I had never tried before, with terrible results. It was very stupid of me, and I will never do that again,” he said quietly but sincerely, his words directed to the older man, unconsciously laying a hand on Snape’s forearm. “I will retrieve your book as soon as we are at Hogwarts again, I left it in the rooms we cleared in the Chamber. But I am very serious about teaching that way. I learned loads by just following your notes.”

Those eyes, exhibiting so much more emotion than the normal onyx would, studied him intently, sorrow and pain shimmering in their depths. With a nod, Devon Prince sat back and surveyed the teenagers with a practiced mask of indifference, which Harry had to admit was better than the look of pure loathing that he had seen on the Potions master’s face so often over the past six years. The changes the modified Polyjuice had made to Snape’s face were enough to allow it to appear healthier, less cruel, and Harry hoped that the scathing look that so often twisted those features would not reappear. 

Harry dropped his gaze back to his plate with a frown; the knowledge that recent events had profoundly changed him as well hit him once again. What had seemed to him to be an annoyance before the night he accompanied Dumbledore to the coast, now defined his existence; he was the only one who could defeat Voldemort. The problems and challenges facing him were very clear, as was the fact that the closest thing he had to a mentor was the seemingly loyal Death Eater next to him, a man who had hated him for most of their acquaintance. While he had no doubt that Ron and Hermione would be instrumental in helping him, he shuddered when he thought of what they were risking for him.

A hiss from beside him caught Harry’s attention, and he turned to see Devon grab his left forearm, pressing it against his torso. It took only a second for him to realize that the older man had been summoned, and Harry met the golden eyes with apprehension.

“I thought you were supposed to be in hiding?” Harry asked anxiously. 

“As did I!” Snape snapped, standing abruptly and heading for the door.

Harry followed him, Ron and Hermione trailing behind. The Potions master took the stairs to the second floor two at a time. He returned in less than a minute, black robes draped over his arm, a tiny vial of clear liquid in his hand. Downing the potion, Snape struggled into his robes as the appearance-altering potion was reversed, and Harry found his eyes locked on the fathomless dark eyes that seemed to see into his soul. 

“You don’t have to go,” Harry told him quietly. “You can ignore the order and stay, you’ll be safe here.”

“And have Albus’ life sacrificed for nothing?” The dark head shook slightly. “I can’t do that, Harry.”

Grabbing a handful of Floo powder, the older wizard turned toward the fire. Before Snape could leave, though, Harry spied the dark wand on the shelf beside the Pensieve.

“Wait!” he cried, holding out his hand as he wordlessly summoned Snape’s wand. “You had better have this wand. I am not sure you could explain away the other one.”

They exchanged wands; the older man was reluctant to relinquish Dumbledore’s wand, but he knew Harry was right. Then, without a backward glance, the taller man threw the Floo powder into the grate and disappeared into the green flame. Harry knew he had to Apparate from his house at Spinner’s End, as that was where Voldemort thought he was staying. A feeling of uneasiness washed over him as the fire died down, and he glanced up at the portrait of the Headmaster. Dumbledore was wearing a concerned expression as well.

“You must trust Severus, Harry; he will do what he feels he must,” the Headmaster said quietly.

Harry shot him a scowl. “How am I supposed to protect him when he takes off like that? How did you do it for all those years?”

“With great patience, trust, and calming potions, Harry,” came the reply as the portrait Dumbledore sat down his chair again.

With a snicker, Harry nodded. He was turning away when Hermione stepped forward to address Dumbledore, her eyes intent.

“Sir, the Sword of Gryffindor that hangs in your office at Hogwarts?” The Headmaster nodded at her to continue. “I have found a reference to a matching dagger in one of the books I was reading; do you know what might have happened to it?”

Dumbledore looked startled for a moment, and Harry thought he saw a gleam of triumph in the witch’s soft brown eyes. Hermione had been pouring over books from the library at the Ministry of Magic since the term ended, Ron had said, and had arrived at The Burrow just the day before Harry himself had. He felt a thrill of excitement run down his spine at the thought of identifying another Horcrux.

“I had heard rumor of a dagger in my student days, Miss Granger, but have never seen or heard of it since,” he answered thoughtfully. “Allow me to converse with some of the other portraits and I’ll see if anyone knows.” 

The teenagers watched Albus Dumbledore disappear out of his portrait. After he left, they looked at each other, and Harry smiled.

“Good job, Hermione,” he told her as he led them back towards the kitchen.

Hermione set the dishes to washing themselves as Harry and Ron cleared the table and put the room back in order. In greater detail than his brief earlier explanation, Harry told them about the days spent in the Chamber of Secrets and the elemental magic he and Snape had discovered there. Hermione’s eyes lit up as he described the shelves of manuscripts and journals, especially the ones hand written in Parseltongue. Their conversation continued as the Gryffindors moved back into the sitting room, where Hermione told them about the research she had done. She described the great library stuffed into cramped quarters of the Ministry building, and the wizened old wizard that guarded it, whom she had decided was the long lost twin brother of Madam Pince. 

The trio trudged upstairs as the clock chimed midnight, Ron and Hermione taking their pick of the remaining two bedrooms before they said their goodnights. Harry took his turn washing up and slipped into a pair of sleep pants, lying down on his bed. Staring at the ceiling, he tried to keep the worry and concern at bay by clearing his mind and sealing his mental trunk. Although he was exhausted, Harry found he could not sleep.

Stealing quietly down the stairs, he seated himself in the chair Snape normally claimed and leaned his head back, staring into the low burning fire. He had no idea how long he had sat there, half in a stupor, when the fireplace flared green and a bloody Severus Snape fell out, collapsing on the floor.

* * *


	11. Revelations

* * *

Harry dropped to his knees next to the prone figure and gently turned him over. Snape’s face was deathly pale beneath bloody, matted hair, his lips colorless. Swearing quietly, Harry propped the unconscious man up against him, his fingers undoing the clasps on the black robes before pushing them off. The Potions master was still wearing the soft pullover and trousers underneath, and Harry gently worked the shirt off, causing Snape to groan. A lean chest was exposed, with bloody welts that crisscrossed his torso, a stark contrast to the pale skin. A shiver went through the older man despite the warmth of the summer night, followed by a low moan. Harry summoned Albus Dumbledore’s wand from the shelf and without a thought to the statute regarding underage sorcery, levitated the injured man. 

Maneuvering the Slytherin up the stairs and into his bedroom, Harry lit the candle with a wave of his hand before he laid Snape gently on the bed. Carefully, he stripped the man’s trousers off and gently rolled the older wizard over, where he could see the same pattern blood welts across his back and thighs. Settling Snape on his back, Harry could feel rage building in him, and he took a deep breath, tamping it down firmly. How did that bastard have any followers if he tortured them, he thought angrily, searching the room for the potions stores.

“ _Accio_ healing potion! _Accio_ healing ointment!”

Several vials flew at him from the direction of the wardrobe, and Harry quickly caught them. With knowledge he hadn’t known he possessed, he separated out a general healing potion from one designed to lower a fever, and sorted through the rest to find a topical healing cream. Crawling up the bed, Harry gently lifted the dark head with a hand cupped around Snape’s neck, pouring the healing potion into his mouth slowly. Dropping the vial, he carefully massaged the long, slender neck, urging the older wizard to swallow. With a flick of the slender wand, a basin of warm soapy water and flannel stood on the bedside table. With careful motions, Harry cleaned the blood and dirt off of the unconscious man, changing the water several times before the pale skin and raven hair were clean. Once that was done, he rolled the Slytherin over to treat his wounds.

Starting at the top of Snape’s back, the teenager smoothed the healing potion onto the welts; they appeared to be whip marks rather than the result of being hexed. The image of Voldemort’s delight at watching someone being whipped flashed through Harry’s mind, and the depth of hatred he felt for the snake-faced bastard shook in him. It took a tremendous effort to force the feelings into his mental trunk and continue his ministrations. His fingertips tingled every time they came into contact with the damaged skin as they slowly made their way down the lean plane of the lightly muscled back. Hesitating for several seconds, Snape’s breath sounding harsh to his ears, Harry considered his next move carefully. Finally deciding that the need for treatment outweighed what he was sure would be Snape’s objections, were he awake, Harry gently worked the torn black silk pants down over the curve of Snape’s hips. Lush ivory skin was marked as cruelly as the man’s back, and with trembling hands the younger wizard spread the ointment over the battered skin before pulling the pants back up.

Easing the injured wizard onto his back, Harry concentrated on applying the potion to the bruises and welts, ignoring as best as he could the tingling that he could now feel in his entire body and the breath that pooled shallowly in his lungs. Encountering the top of the silk boxers, Harry was surprised to see a definite bulge outlined against the dark fabric, and refused to invade the man’s privacy any further. He finished the muscular thighs, which he couldn’t help noticing were dusted with dark hair, before conjuring a light blanket to cover the prone figure. A straight-backed chair stood at the desk in the corner and Harry moved it over to beside the bad, seating himself there to keep watch over the injured man.

The young man studied the pale face that lay motionless on the pillow, trying to summon the feelings of hatred and loathing he had felt burning within him not two weeks ago. Snape was the man he had sworn he would kill in the most painful way imaginable, whom he had placed second only to Voldemort on his list of people he loathed. Yes, the man had been vindicated, and yes, Harry believed it had almost destroyed the Slytherin to have killed a dying Albus Dumbledore. And yes, Harry had always, through everything else, trusted Severus Snape to protect him. None of those things explained the mix of emotions swirling inside him, or the unfamiliar ache in his groin.

* * *

“Harry!” A rough hand shook his shoulder as a voice hissed in his ear. “What do you think you are doing? Snape is going to kill you!”

Blinking his eyes open, Harry found that he was half-draped on the Potions master’s bed, still clad only in his sleep pants, and had his hand enfolded around Snape’s. His glasses askew, he darted a look up, to see slits of onyx taking in the scene without moving, and a jolt went through him as their eyes met. Sitting up quickly, Harry tried to cover his embarrassment by straightening his glasses, then springing to his feet.

“He fell out of the fireplace last night all bruised and bloodied, Hermione,” he explained to the scowling witch in a low voice. “I fed him a healing potion and then put an ointment on the welts and bruises he had. Bloody bastard whipped him, I think!” 

Harry was back-pedaling toward the door, his eyes anywhere but on the two people who occupied the room, missing the look of intrigue that crossed the young woman’s face. A soft hand on his arm stopped him, and Harry looked up to see the soft brown eyes smiling at him, before they roamed over his chest with its array of scars.

“Why don’t you get cleaned up, Harry, and I will check the professor?”

Harry nodded, hurrying into the bathroom and quietly shutting the door. Leaning back against it, the young wizard tried to rein in his rapidly beating heart. How immature of him to have reacted that way, he berated himself as he stripped and stepped into the shower. He had only done what any of them would have done for the others, he rationalized. He had almost convinced himself of this when the little monster that usually resided in his chest spoke up, pointing out that he had seemed to take great delight in stroking that ivory skin. Ducking his head under the stream of steamy water, Harry shoved the voice away and began to scrub his body. Trying to ignore the erection he had did not seem to work, nor did the attempt to rationalize it away as the usual morning occurrence. The little monster snorted, digging deep as it reminded Harry that Ginny had never caused him to become this hard, even while snogging him senseless. 

With a defeated sigh, Harry stroked a hand up and down his penis, letting his fingers trail across the head, ripping a moan from his throat. This was not an activity he had indulged in often, especially after being a reluctant witness to the various wanking games that Dudley and his gang had gotten up to last summer. They had sat in the sitting room watching sex videos every time his aunt and uncle went out. They had laughed at Harry’s virginal blush, and forced him to watch them. Imitating what they had done, Harry closed his eyes, and gripping his rigid member, stroked it hard. It only took a few pulls to reach completion, but it was not a flash of ginger-red hair and hazel eyes that he envisioned as he climaxed, but raven hair and eyes the color of fresh-brewed coffee. 

Harry found Ron already shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth when he entered the kitchen a few minutes later. Hermione shot him as assessing look as she put a plate of thick toast on the table and sat down beside Ron. Feeling his face heat, he tried to shake off the feeling that his friend knew exactly what he’d been up to, and slid into his chair quickly.

“How’s Snape doing?” he asked as casually as he could while he scooped eggs on to his plate.

“ _Devon_ ,” Hermione placed a delicate emphasis on the name, “is feeling fine this morning, just a bit sore he said. He should be down in a minute.”

They ate in silence for several minutes, each lost in their respective thoughts, before Hermione spoke again.

“Are we still heading to Godric’s Hollow first, Harry?”

Harry looked up at her, his mind flashing back to the conversation they had had just before leaving school. The feeling he had about the place where his parents died was still there; something about it called to him. He nodded slowly, chewing his toast thoughtfully.

“Yes, I still feel like that is the place where I need to start, like there is something waiting there for me, at the place where this all started.”

Hermione nodded her understanding of Harry’s need just as the kitchen door opened and Devon Prince walked in. Harry dropped his eyes and felt the color rise in his cheeks again. Feeling the golden eyes sweep over him, Harry resisted the urge to look up at the older man, and concentrated on buttering another piece of toast.

“Tea or coffee, sir?” Ron asked after greetings had been exchanged, and then slid a cup and saucer across the table.

The older wizard muttered his thanks as he sank gingerly into the chair next to Harry, who looked up in time to see a flash of lingering pain flit over the pale face. None of the marks he had seen last night were visible, as the light blue open-necked shirt and black trousers covered the ivory skin. Only the stiffness in the usually graceful carriage suggested any stiffness the Potions master might be feeling. 

“What happened, sir?” he asked quietly.

The older man sipped at his tea before settling it back on the saucer. “The Dark Lord received word that someone was offering basilisk-based potions ingredients for sale and correctly assumed that Harry had re-opened the Chamber of Secrets. He became further enraged when he remembered that he no longer had a spy on the Hogwarts faculty to keep him informed about your activities. I do not believe he has any idea that we know about the Horcrux hidden there.” The wizard took another sip of his tea, his hand shaking slightly. “Unfortunately, there was no Malfoy there to take his wrath; he decided I needed to be punished for compromising my position by making the Unbreakable Vow with Narcissa, which her sister had been only too happy to describe to him.”

Hermione set a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast in front of Snape, who accepted it with a nod.

“He has ordered me to find some way to regain my former position as Potions master, and to resume my spying. My primary task is to get close to the Gryffindor Golden boy,” Devon said with a smirk, picking up his fork and the teens laughed.

Hermione directed the conversation back to the possible Horcruxes still outstanding and their possible locations, allowing Devon to eat his breakfast. Waving the older man to stay seated, the teenagers cleared the table and washed up. Carrying a fresh cup of tea, the older man moved into the sitting room. Albus Dumbledore was back in his portrait and greeted them enthusiastically before he got a good look at his protégé’s face.

“Severus, are you all right, my boy? You were summoned, weren’t you?” Dumbledore’s voice was laced with concern.

The tall wizard seated himself carefully in the armchair before launching into a summary of the previous evening’s events. Hermione and Ron settled on the couch as Harry took the other chair. It seemed that in addition to re-infiltrating Hogwarts, Voldemort had carefully laid plans to take Harry from his relatives at the stroke of midnight on his birthday when the wards fell at the house on Privet Drive. The thought sent a chill down Harry’s spine. The frown on the Headmaster’s face deepened as he listened to Severus’ report.

“There are precious few people who are aware of the blood protection that Harry has enjoyed at the Dursleys’ home, and the fact that this information had been passed to Voldemort concerns me greatly,” the portrait told them gravely. The implication of a spy deep in the Order was obvious. “It is imperative that no one know what you are trying to achieve, not even your parents, Mister Weasley.”

Both Ron and Hermione nodded their agreement. “Our parents believe we are with Harry at Grimmauld Place, and that the house has been warded against any interruption so that we can study.”

Harry snorted as Dumbledore nodded at Hermione’s words. “Good, good. Now, I have information on the dagger,” the Headmaster said, looking down at Harry. “It seems that the last confirmed owner of the dagger was your great-grandfather, who surely would have passed it down to his only son, your grandfather Henry. It is not known where it might have gone when your grandparents died; your parents had just gone into hiding with you, and the estate was in limbo while they were under Fidelius. My thoughts are that the dagger should still be in the house where your father grew up, which is on the same piece of property that your parents cottage was.”

Harry leaned forward, looking up at the portrait. “My grandparents died just after my mum and dad went into hiding?”

“We found nothing amiss with their deaths, Harry,” Dumbledore told him sadly. “No residual dark magic and no indication that it was anything other than natural causes.”

Narrowing his eyes, Harry scowled darkly. “Their heir in hiding, both parents die, at the same time, and nothing was found?”

“Poison,” Snape interjected.

“Do you have information, Severus?” Dumbledore looked over his half-moon spectacles.

“I was in London at the time completing my mastery, but I remember Lucius Malfoy paying me a visit, asking me questions about untraceable poisons. I also know that the Dark Lord had used poisons in the past, and had a keen interest in them.”

“Was there a fast acting poison that would leave no traces, magical or otherwise, Severus? One that Tom was particularly interested in?” Dumbledore asked.

“Yes,” the golden eyes shot a glance at Harry. “A poison brewed from the venom of a basilisk.”

Suddenly, it all made sense to Harry. His parents went into hiding when they heard Voldemort was searching for them, but his grandparents did not. They had been killed, probably by the evil wizard himself, using a poison he had concocted from the venom he had collected during his years at Hogwarts. It was probably not a coincidence that an artifact of one of the Founders went missing from his family then. Under the circumstances, Harry thought there was a strong possibility that it was still in Godric’s Hollow.

“Headmaster, I feel I need to go to Godric’s Hollow, and have had that feeling since you…since the term ended. I think we need to go today.”

Dumbledore nodded in understanding. “I believe the Potter house will sufficiently accommodate all of you, and should be in good repair. Severus, the town is south of Blackpool, just in from the coast. Are you familiar with it?”

“Yes, Albus,” the Potions master assured him. “We should be able to Floo to the wizarding inn near the village, and walk to the property. Will the wards recognize Harry, and allow him in?”

“Yes, I believe so. Now, I must go inform Minerva of the information you have given me,” Dumbledore stood, surveying them. “Please be careful.”

They watched as the Headmaster walked out of his portrait, then Harry stood up. 

“If you are sure you are feeling up to it, Devon?”

“Yes, I believe I am capable,” the older man stood, placing his cup on the table. “We each will need to pack a bag. The village is approximately the size of Hogsmeade, if I remember correctly, and is inhabited primarily by Muggles, so please pack accordingly.”

It took them less than an hour to get everything ready, and Harry felt himself becoming nervous as they gathered in the sitting room once again. He had summoned Kreacher and Dobby, sending the former back to the kitchens at Hogwarts so that the other house-elves could watch him. Dobby, once he had calmed down after seeing Harry, had told him that he was still searching for the person to whom Mundungus said he sold the locket. The sneak thief was still locked in a closet at Grimmauld Place and would stay there until Dobby located the piece of jewelry. Sniggering at the mental image of Mundungus huddled in a small dark space, Harry thanked the diminutive creature before sending him back to continue his search. 

Ron sat slumped back on the couch, reading a book, trying carefully to keep the cover concealed, as Harry spoke to the house-elves. Devon sat sipping a cup of tea, his quill scratching over a piece of parchment lying on the table. Nudging his best friend with his knee, Harry turned his head, trying to get a look at the title of the book.

“What’s that, mate, a Quidditch book?”

The youngest Weasley male flushed red to his ears, and threw a look over his shoulder towards the stairs. 

“It’s a book my mum had that I thought might help us, so I nicked it to give to Hermione. I just looked through it for the first time the other night, and found that it was something totally different than I thought, and I wanted to read it…”

With a snort, Harry yanked the book out of his hands and turned it so he could read the cover. “ **Soul Bound** ,” Harry read aloud, looking puzzled. “How is this going to help us, Ron?”

“Well,” the redhead tugged the book out of Harry’s hand. “I had thought it would tell us something about how souls were bound in the first place, and what effect it might have, but instead it is about soul-mates, and how you recognize yours.”

Harry’s puzzlement only deepened at Ron’s words. Even Muggle-raised as he was, he had heard of soul-mates, but it was just a phrase, something insipid people in love usually proclaimed. A snort from the chair told Harry that the older wizard was listening as well.

“That’s just so much tripe isn’t it, a soul-mate?”

“No, Harry, it isn’t. Mum and Dad are soul-mates, like two halves of the same soul. It is opposite of what Volde…of what He is doing, mate; it’s the merging of two souls. Soul-mates can share magical power, as well as have an almost telepathic connection with each other – you know how Mum always seems to know everything that it going on?”

Harry nodded, his mind whirling. Not only could someone evil split his soul by killing, but at the opposite end, love could bind your soul to another’s, making you stronger than you were alone. It sounded like the summary of every lesson Albus Dumbledore had given him on the power of love, the power he supposedly possessed in such large quantities.

“How…how do you tell if you are soul-mates, Ron?” The moment the words left his mouth, Harry wanted to pull them back, consume them in a fire, do something not to hear the answer he somehow knew was coming.

“Actually, it starts as a hyper-awareness of each other, the book says,” Ron began, his desire to impress with his knowledge almost as strong as Hermione’s. “You seem to always know when they are near, or looking at you. Most soul-mates start out hating each other, the conflicting emotions leading them to argue and bicker constantly, like they hate each other. You know, like me and Hermione. The most brilliant thing though, Harry, is that if you are soul-mates and your magic is compatible, you can feel it tingle every time you touch them!”

Involuntarily, Harry’s head shot up and met a startled pair of golden eyes before his breath seized in his chest, and he forced his eyes away, slamming them shut. _Coincidence_ , he thought forcefully, _just a coincidence. Damn Ron and his stupid book_!

“Are we ready to go?” Hermione’s voice was impatient and Harry grasped at it, pushing everything else to the back of his mind.

* * *


	12. Godric's Hollow

* * *

The trip to Blackpool and on to Godric’s Hollow was a series of Floo connections that left Harry sooty and retching by the time he arrived at the town’s small inn and pub. Snape had gone through first, and immediately exited the inn to survey the village, making sure it was free of known Death Eaters. Sitting with his back to the wall of the pub, Harry jammed a hat low over his forehead, and was now sipping on a butterbeer. He still had half of the bag of money Bill had retrieved for him from his Gringotts account the previous summer in his pocket, figuring that would be enough to finance their journey. He drummed his fingertips on the tabletop as he watched people walk by the window at the front of the building. The bottle sat neglected in front of him as his eyes swept the room again, wondering how much it might have changed since the days his father would have visited here, a lifetime ago. Had his dad and Sirius come here when they were teenagers on summer holidays from Hogwarts? Had he brought Harry’s mum here? 

Hermione was blushing prettily as she walked through the pub hand in hand with an equally red-faced Ron Weasley, making Harry smirk as he wondered what they’d been up to. They exited without looking in his direction, and Harry waited several minutes before following them. Blinking in the bright sunshine, the teenager moved down the street toward the edge of the village, smiling and nodding at several of the locals who stared at him crossly. It was apparent to Harry that this little town did not get many visitors and did not really welcome strangers, although he had gotten a second look from a matronly woman sweeping off the steps in front of her house.

Snape was waiting for him at the edge of the village, leaning against a tree, and fell into step silently with Harry as he drew near. He could see Ron and Hermione walking along the road ahead, still holding hands and talking animatedly. Harry knew the Potter property was about a twenty-minute walk from the village, and felt the weight of apprehension press move heavily upon him with each step. He was afraid of what they would find when they arrived at their destination, even though he had been told by Hagrid that his parents’ cottage had been destroyed when he arrived that night to find his parents dead and Harry crying in the rubble. His parents had been buried in the small family cemetery on the property, and Harry assumed his grandparents were there as well. 

They passed an open field and caught up with the other two just a bit further on, where a copse of trees and a bend in the lane blocked them from view. In the midst of this wooded area, a small path opened up, leading off into the heart of the thicket. Drawing a deep breath, Harry pushed through the overgrown branches and led the way down the dirt track. A stream trickled through the underbrush on their right as they made their way carefully around the branch of a bramble bush. Harry stepped over a small ditch that was dug across their path, but stopped as he felt the wash of a magical barrier. 

“Harry! We can’t get through!” Hermione called to him, and he walked back to where the others stood.

“What do I do?” he asked, at a loss.

“The wards are blood-based, I am sure,” Devon told him. “Give me your hand.”

Harry extended his hand; the older wizard grabbed it firmly, pulling himself through the wards to the teenager’s side. Neither of them acknowledged the subtle tingling each of them felt when their palms met. 

“These magical barriers are impenetrable by most magics, only allowing those invited by a member of the family to cross them.”

Harry quickly held his hand out to Hermione and Ron in turn, his heart thumping as they made their way further along the path. The very air around him seemed to vibrate, and Harry could just imagine his father as a boy playing along the banks of the clear creek. The air seemed to quiver with the memories of generations of the family he had never known, the father taken from him before Harry could even remember him, the grandparents taken before he was out of infancy. Sadness, heavy and deep, settled over him, weighing down his already aching heart. 

The small group reached the edge of the trees and stepped out to look across a small hollow. A large house was set on a rounded raised area to their left, and a path to their right led toward what looked like the foundation of a cottage. Straight ahead and across a patch of open ground was a small graveyard at the edge of another group of trees, the creek meandering along the side of the ruins as well as the cemetery. Drawing a deep breath, tears unexpectedly welling in his eyes, Harry took a stumbling step to his right, toward the place his parents had died, betrayed by one of their closest friends. 

An arm circled his waist, and Harry did not have to look to know that Hermione had fallen into step beside him, and he drew on the silent comfort she was offering. The flash of green spell-light and screaming played through his mind as they got closer to the portion of foundation that still stood, overgrown with vines and brush. Nothing inside the house had survived. As Harry stepped over the low wall and into what had been him home for a few short months, fragments of memories forced their way out of his mental chest, washing over him: the smell of flowers, the sound of a sweet voice singing, the huskiness of a laugh, and the warmth of love. Tears overwhelmed him, and Harry sank to his knees, silently mourning for the loss he had never had the opportunity to deal with before, the loss of his childhood, the loss of parental love. How does one grieve for something they had never had, until they are shone what it had been they had lost? How does anyone know they have been abused, if that was the only thing they ever knew, just as how do they know love if they had never experienced it?

A soft hand rubbed small circles on his back, comforting him in an unobtrusive way. Numbly, Harry stood and allowed Hermione to lead him back to the main pathway, where Ron and Devon had gone ahead, walking toward the main house. He had been prepared for this to be a painful trip, but Harry had not anticipated that it would emphasize how very alone he was in the world, and how very much he wished for someone who could love him more anything else. He had not anticipated the deep emptiness inside him would ache quite so badly at the knowledge that it might never be filled.

They caught up with the two taller wizards as they turned up the walkway to the house. It was not large by Hogwarts standards, but appeared to be at least double the size of the Dursleys’ home. The front porch and steps appeared to be in good repair, as if the house had not stood empty for the past fifteen years. Harry climbed the steps gingerly, baffled at how clean and well-maintained it was, coming to a sudden stop as the front door swung open. A diminutive creature, its brown tennis ball-sized eyes huge in its small green face, peered out at him. A second, shorter creature looked out from under the arm of the first. The taller of the two stepped fully into the doorway, the large green eyes glowing luminously as it stared at Harry. With a squeak, the littler house-elf launched itself at the teen.

“Master Harry! Master Harry, it be you!” a little voice squeaked as the creature fastened itself to his knee tightly.

The second house-elf, clad in a clean, worn tea towel, bowed deeply, its nose touching the floor. “Nerel serves the Potter family, Master Harry, and that is my daughter, Piat. We have been waiting for your return, young Master.”

Harry stared down at the creature softly crying against his knee, bewildered. It should not surprise him that his father’s pureblood family had house-elves, or that they would have stayed and cared for the house as if it were their own. The image of Kreacher flashed through his mind, and Harry shuddered. Baffled, he followed the older elf into the house, ignoring the snort he heard from Snape. The entry was immaculate, as was the sitting room to which they were shown. There, a third house-elf, clad in a skirt fashioned from a tea towel, held a silver tea tray for the visitors. Tinky, the mother of the young female house-elf, and was as exuberant as her daughter in her greeting, although she attempted to contain her excitement. The family of house-elves stood beaming as Harry and the others sat down in a group of chairs gathered in front of the fireplace and accepted cups of tea.

“Nerel, could you please tell me what happened to my grandparents?” Harry asked, taking a sip of the strong tea before setting the cup down on the low table.

“Tinky was down at the cottage with Miss Lily and Master James that night,” the diminutive being began, wringing his hands nervously. “The Master and Mistress were being fine when I served tea before bed and dead when I be checking on them in the morning, Master Harry.” Tear-filled green eyes looked up. “It being hard to remember that night, I am not knowing why.”

Harry frowned at the small creature. The memory of another house-elf, small and wizened, appeared in his mind, one whose memory had been tampered with by Tom Riddle, causing it to confess to accidentally poisoning her mistress. Dumbledore had been able to extract the memory from Hokey many years after the fact, and Harry wondered if Nerel would be willing to submit to a search of his memories, if Snape was willing to make the attempt. Looking up, he caught the golden eyes as they swept over his face, and quirked an eyebrow at the older man, who answered with an imperceptible nod.

“Nerel, my friend Devon might be able to help you remember what happened that night.” Harry slid out of the chair and knelt on the floor in front of house-elf, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder. “We believe that Vold…that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named might have been the one who murdered my grandparents and may have changed your memory of what happened that night. Would you be willing to try?”

Nerel drew himself up to his full height. “Yes, Master Harry.” 

Smiling gratefully, Harry nodded. “Perhaps we could try that this afternoon, Nerel, when you have a moment. I’d like to know what truly happened to my grandparents.” 

The four of them sipped at tea, glad to relax and rest after the long walk from the village. It was obvious to Harry that the house had been well cared for and that the house-elves had unfailingly continued with their duties after the deaths of his parents and grandparents. Glancing around the room, Harry realized that in addition to the bedrooms and other rooms upstairs, the ground floor was large enough to contain a study or library where the dagger could have been placed. There had to been some type of basement or cellar as well, he thought, knowing that most houses, Muggle or Wizard, had them. There were also the ruins of the smaller house where his parents were killed, but Harry thought it unlikely that Voldemort could have used that as a hiding place for the Horcrux while it was under the Fidelius Charm. The small family graveyard adjacent to the stream was another place they could look, should their search of the house be fruitless. 

Tinky escorted the four of them upstairs to the rooms that they would be occupying during their stay. Harry was shown to the room that had belonged to his father. He entered it with trepidation, sighing as he stepped into a large bedroom decorated in blues and cream, a room that didn’t overtly scream ‘James’ to him. There was an old Quidditch poster on one wall and a broom in a rack near the wardrobe, but it appeared that all his father’s personal property had been removed at some point. Tinky stood in the doorway, watching with anxious eyes as the teenager prowled around the room, opening the door that led to an adjoining bathroom. Harry sat his bag down on the floor and glanced around the bathroom to keep the little house-elf happy.

“Tinky, may I ask you a question?” Harry crouched down in front of her.

“Yes, Master Harry.”

“Is there anywhere on the property that is bad or doesn’t feel right to you? A place that you avoid because you are afraid to go near it?”

Tinky stared at him, a look of terror coming over her face, her huge brown eyes growing impossibly larger. “There is an evil place here, Master Harry, a place Nerel refuses to let us near.” Fear radiated off her.

“Where is it, Tinky?” In an attempt to reassure her, Harry knelt in front of the trembling house-elf.

“It is being down by the stream, but it is a bad place, Master Harry, a dangerous place!” 

Harry patted her small shoulder reassuringly. “It will be all right, Tinky, I promise. My friends and I have come here to take the evil and destroy it.”

The little creature nodded at him hesitantly. “If you will take it away, Master Harry, I be taking you to it.”

Taken aback by the ease with which it seemed that they had located the next Horcrux, Harry stood and gestured to the door. Summoning Snape, Hermione, and Ron from their rooms and heading down the stairs, Harry explained what Tinky had told him, and was surprised when the older wizard beside him put a restraining hand on his arm.

“I would like to try and see if I am able to retrieve the memory from Nerel before we attempt to approach the, uh, item, itself.”

Harry chafed at the delay, but he knew that Snape had a good reason for the request. Holding back a sigh, he nodded in agreement. Tinky seemed relieved to put off the excursion, and disappeared with a _pop_ , muttering about fixing their supper. Hermione used the opportunity to drag Ron off in search of the library to check and see if there might be any records concerning the whereabouts of the Gryffindor dagger. Harry looked at Snape, who arched an eyebrow at him, and turned toward the opposite end of the house to begin their own search. The Potions master walking silently beside him.

The older man’s lack of sarcasm continued to surprise Harry; that even in the Chamber of Secrets the older man had found something to continue to deride him about. Given the fact that he was now in the boyhood home of the man he’d hated during his school years, Harry had expected more venom. His own emotions churned so strongly, he imagined that Snape’s were similarly affected. He shot a surreptitious look at the older wizard’s calm, impassive face, trying to see beyond the mask, trying to decipher the puzzle that was Severus Snape, a puzzle that he found he wanted more and more to solve.

Several portraits watched their progress down the hallway they were traversing. Harry slowed when he saw the portrait of a young man in his mid-twenties standing under a large shade tree, a broomstick in his hand, his mop of raven hair messy and windblown. His heart caught for a moment, then Harry realized this could not be his father; James had not lived past twenty-one. The man in the painting peered at him intently before leaning his broom against the tree and stepping forward, his hand outstretched.

“Are you…James’ son?” he tentatively asked.

“Yes, I am,” the teenager replied, stepping closer. “I am Harry.”

A smile appeared on the young man’s face. “You are named for me, young Harry. I am your grandfather, Henry.”

Harry’s breath caught in his chest as he looked into a face remarkably like his own. In his grandfather, Harry could see the shape of his own nose, the roundness of his own face, and that same wild hair. All the possibilities of what his life might have been, what a difference parents and grandparents could have made overwhelmed him for a moment. It struck him that he had missed out on a heritage, a wealth of history, and, had his fate not already been chosen for him, a legacy.

“I am happy to meet you, Grandfather,” the teenager answered softly, a sad smile on his face.

The man in the portrait gave him a sharp look, and Harry became aware of the company at his shoulder. Only then did he realize that Snape had stopped beside him as the painting had caught his attention. Henry Potter smiled politely and nodded to acknowledge the other man’s presence.

“How is it young Harry, that I have not met you before now? You look to be fifteen or sixteen. Dare I ask what happened to your parents, my boy?”

“Seventeen at the end of this month, Grandfather,” Harry told him. “Do you remember what happened to you and Grandmother?”

A pair of hazel eyes narrowed. “The dark wizard who was after your mum and dad, he came around one afternoon just after they had taken you into hiding, seeking information on your whereabouts. I threw him out, and your grandmother and I died that night, poison of some sort, I believe.” The man began to pace in front of the tree. “He found them under the Fidelius, didn’t he? The bastard killed Lily and James, didn’t he? Damn that bloody rat, I knew Sirius should have been their secret keeper!” 

Harry nodded. “Yes, sir, and he tried to kill me, but something went wrong. I lived and he…he didn’t, sort of. Anyway, I was sent to live with my aunt and uncle.”

The man stopped pacing abruptly, turning to face them before again eyeing the Potions master, who still stood silently at Harry’s side.

“Your companion, grandson, seems quite protective of you. Is he someone you trust?”

Turning slightly, he met amber eyes that he thought contained concern. “I trust him with my life, Grandfather. This is my friend, Devon Prince.”

The man in the portrait inclined his head as Harry turned back towards him, and leaned forward to whisper in an urgent voice. “Check Gryffindor’s dagger, Harry, that Voldemort bastard asked several questions about it as well.” 

Feeling his heart sink, Harry leaned toward the painting. “Where was it kept, Grandfather?”

“In a charmed case in the library,” the man answered as he paced. “The case was charmed and warded so that only a blood relative or a member of the household could touch it.”

Snape spoke for the first time. “Mister Potter, would your house-elf have been able to remove the dagger from the case?”

“Yes, as head of the house-elves, Nerel would have been able to open the case,” came the puzzled answer. “He would never do that without being asked…” The darkhaired man looked at them both, a troubled expression on his face. “Could you please go check it?”

With a nod, the two wizards started back down the hall toward the other end of the house. They found Ron and Hermione in a large room, paneled in rich walnut with crisp white trim and wainscoting. Two of the walls were lined with bookshelves filled full with all manner of books. There was a large walnut desk along another wall, with a cluster of chairs in front of a huge fireplace. On the wall opposite the desk, situated between two oversized windows, was a large glass case, a golden jewel encrusted dagger visible inside it.

With a tremendous feeling of relief, Harry made his way across the room. The dagger inside seemed to shimmer as he approached the case. He noticed Hermione leaning over, reading an ancient-looking parchment and several old journals, while Ron sat trying to look interested in whatever she was reading. Reaching the case, Harry stretched out his hand to touch the glass.

“No!”

An arm looped around his waist, and he was pulled back hard against a firm body. Stunned, both by the action and the impact, Harry didn’t move, allowing Snape to support most of his weight. 

“Look at the way the dagger wavers, Harry. I don’t think what we are seeing is real,” the rich baritone whispered in his ear. “Remember the blue field in the Chamber? This may be a variation of the same spell.”

Harry nodded, and felt himself eased away from the older man. His wand was in his hand before he consciously thought about it. A cautioning hand was laid on his left arm, and Harry met the golden eyes before turning back to the case. Lifting his wand, he hissed the first spell that came to mind.

“ _Finite Incantatem_!”

The dagger shimmered and disappeared, leaving behind a dusty, empty glass case. Hermione gasped, and Harry let his arm fall back down to his side.

* * *


	13. Knockturn Alley

**Note:** Severus is still in disguise in this chapter. Devon and Snape are used interchangeably in this chapter to refer to the Potions master. Also, the placement of various stores in Diagon Alley is a subject of some debate; in this chapter, Flourish and Blotts bookstore is next-door to Slug and Jiggers Apothecary. This may not be consistent with fan art associated with the HP Lexicon.

* * *

After spending the remainder of the afternoon and much of the evening in the library, Hermione was able to locate documentation supporting the claim that the dagger had been one of Godric Gryffindor’s possessions, made as part of a matched set with the sword housed in the Headmistress’ office at Hogwarts. A drawing of the missing artifact showed it to be a golden miniature of the sword, its blade sharpened on both sides, the hilt encrusted with rubies. The witch also confirmed that the village that bore his name was indeed the birthplace and home of the Hogwarts Founder, and the Potter family followed a direct line of descent from Godric’s eldest daughter, Gwendela. The property upon which the house sat had been in the family since being given to the young married couple by Godric himself.

Harry also relayed to Ron and Hermione his encounter with his grandfather’s portrait in the hallway, and how he suspected his grandparents had died when he was a baby, just after James and Lily Potter had gone into hiding under the Fidelius Charm. He told them what Henry Potter had said about Voldemort paying a visit, and how he suspected that Peter Pettigrew had made it possible for the evil wizard to get onto the Potter property without triggering the protective fields. The Potters were found dead the next day, and within a short period of time, Harry’s parents had also been killed, given to Voldemort by their ‘friend’.

At Snape’s request, Nerel had come into the sitting room after dinner. He stood ramrod straight before the Potions master; Snape knelt so that his eyes were nearly level with the house-elf’s. Harry sat on the floor nearby. Requesting that the house-elf to bring forth his memories of that night sixteen years ago, Snape quietly cast Legilimens. Harry was relieved when the older wizard stepped back after just five minutes. The older man was uncharacteristically gentle as he rose and thanked the diminutive creature. Dismissing Nerel, he moved to slide down on a chair across the small table from Harry. Ron and Hermione occupied the couch, and all three teens sat silently watching as the Potions master closed his eyes, the slender fingers of one hand massaging the bridge of his nose.

Observing the older wizard closely, Harry reflected on the remarkable restraint Snape had used since entering the childhood home of his school nemesis. Offering only guidance and direction, keeping his opinions to himself, it was almost as if Snape were deferring to Harry in this place that held such meaning for the younger wizard. As he watched and waited now, Harry tried to put himself in the older man’s place, wondering how he would act if he were to suddenly be dropped at Malfoy Manor, told he had to trust that prat Draco Malfoy, to work with him. He admitted to himself that he would feel very uncomfortable under the same circumstances.

“Nerel was placed under the Imperius Curse and forced to poison the elder Potters. He was then directed to open the case and remove the dagger before being Obliviated,” Snape told them quietly, his golden eyes thoughtful. “It would appear that the Dark Lord’s plans were foiled, however, as he was unable to move the dagger through the wards, and Nerel could not help him.”

Harry nodded, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place, and he got to his feet moving restlessly. “And that is why he left it here, in the ‘evil place’ Tiffy described.” 

“Yes,” the Potions master replied. “I believe he originally wanted to move it somewhere more exotic, as with the other Horcruxes, but he had no choice in the matter.”

Ron got up and moved to Harry’s position near the unlit fireplace. The gangly redhead put his hand on the dark-haired teen’s shoulder, who smiled up at him in reassurance. Harry knew that both his friends were worried about him and his reactions to the memories, along with the extreme emotions the house evoked. Harry looked back to where Sna…Devon sat.

“So we don’t know for sure that he transferred some of his soul to it or not. If the dagger is a Horcrux, then is it just down by the stream waiting for us...”

“There is nothing to be gained by seeking the artifact with what remains of this evening,” Snape interjected, glancing up to meet Harry’s eyes. “I should like a detailed recounting of what transpired when you and Albus retrieved the last Horcrux, Harry. There was mention of a potion?”

Nodding, Harry looked at the older man appraisingly. He felt Ron squeeze his shoulder gently in reassurance; he had told Ron and Hermione all about the potion, the Inferi, and the false Horcrux, and Ron knew how he dreaded discussing that night again. His thoughts turning inward, Harry considered the fact that they did not have a Pensieve, and he was not sure if he could accurately describe the potion that had been in the stone basin on that island of flat rock, or its effect on Albus Dumbledore. He knew every detail was critical since a Potions master like Snape would be able to recognize what potion was used, and might even be able to neutralize it if they encountered it again. The solution came to him in the flash of an unpleasant memory from his Occlumency lessons in the spring of his fifth year. A shiver of unease traveled down his spine, but Harry pushed it firmly away. He met the golden eyes determinedly.

“The potion the Dark Lord used would not let us do anything until the Headmaster drank it, and when he stopped drinking the Inferi attacked us. Use Legilimency on me so that you can see it clearly.”

Snape stared at him for a long moment, his face a neutral mask as he searched the emerald eyes. Harry forced himself not to flinch under the intense scrutiny. Finally, the older man nodded and rose, approaching the hearth. Harry exchanged a glance with Ron as the redhead moved back to sit beside Hermione, who gasped as she realized what the two wizards were preparing to do. Throwing her a reassuring look, Harry closed his eyes and pulled the painful memory of that night from his mental trunk. Opening them, he signaled his readiness to the man in front of him.

“ _Legilimens_!”

Harry felt the push as his mind was invaded and the memory began to play before his eyes. He was pleased there was none of the pain he remembered enduring in their previous lessons. Of course, then he had been fighting to block his mind from the forced intrusion, not peacefully allowing access to his memories. Images swam before his eyes: the black lake slipped by beneath the keel of the small boat as it moved toward the island in the middle of the water, and the eerie greenish glow was as bright as he remembered. The Inferi seemed surreal, floating just beneath the lake’s surface. It was hard not to fight against experiencing anew the panic and terror that he knew were coming, harder still not to clamp down on the flow of memory as he relived forcing the foul potion into the elderly wizard’s mouth. 

Unaware of the tears that streamed down his face, the teenager was surprised when the memory stopped abruptly. He found himself on his knees, leaning forward against the Potions master, who had also fallen to his knees. Not sure who was supporting whom, Harry gripped the older man’s arms as he slowly pushed away. When Harry was once again able to focus, he could see that Snape’s face was pale and drawn.

“How did you manage to get him back to Hogsmeade in that condition?” came a quiet inquiry.

Harry was assisted to his feet by Ron, while a concerned Hermione helped Devon to stand.

“We made it back to the mouth of the cave, and I Apparated us from there. We arrived just in time to see the Dark Mark floating over Hogwarts,” he answered, his voice equally quiet. He wiped the moisture from his face and rubbed his eyes briefly.

Hermione turned to him, a look of astonishment on her face. “You double Apparated back to Hogwarts from somewhere on the English coast?” she asked. “This was the first time you had ever Apparated outside of the lessons, right?”

Feeling his cheeks redden at the implied rebuke for his infraction of wizarding law, Harry dropped his eyes to stare at the floor. “I didn’t have any choice, Hermione! I had to get Dumbledore back to the castle: he said the only person who could help was Sna…was Devon! It was the only way I could do it, even if I don’t have my license yet!”

The bark of laughter he heard made Harry frown, and he looked up in time to see the bushy-haired witch smack Ron on the back of his head sharply. Then she turned to Harry with a reassuring smile. 

“You misunderstood me, Harry. I am impressed by what you did; it is difficult to Apparate someone else even under normal circumstances, especially at the distance you covered.”

Ron rubbed his head, a sheepish grin on his face, and Harry thought that even the dour Potions master seemed a bit impressed. He vaguely recalled the same expression on Snape’s face when they had first discussed the events of that terrible night.

“Indeed,” Snape agreed with the witch. His face once again impassive, he returned to his original topic. “In light of the information you have provided, Harry, I believe we need to brew the antidote to the potion the two of you dealt with in the cave. If we encounter it again, someone will have to drink it. It is a potion the Dark Lord himself designed to cause as much suffering as possible, and we will need to take the antidote before drinking it in order to avoid the nasty side effects.”

Harry heard a subtle tone in the older wizard’s voice. “This was a potion he made you brew, isn’t it?”

“Yes, and it was designed to completely destroy the internal organs of the drinker,” he replied, refusing to meet Harry’s eyes. “The Headmaster was dying a very painful death that night in the Astronomy Tower; he knew he would not live, even if had had the antidote in my possession.”

There was a haunted quality to the man’s voice that Harry recognized and understood, and sympathy for what Snape had endured in the past year flashed through him. It was his turn to take a step closer and lay an understanding hand on the older wizard’s arm.

“You can brew the antidote, though?”

“Yes.” The golden eyes finally met his, and Harry almost smiled when saw how carefully shuttered they were. “I will need to make a trip to Diagon Alley in the morning for some ingredients, but if Hermione will begin preparing the base while I am gone, we should be ready to proceed by mid-afternoon.”

With a shake of his head, Harry’s grip tightened. “I don’t think it is safe for you to go anywhere alone. Ron can stay and help Hermione, and I’ll go with you in the morning.”

They were all in agreement; with their plans for the next day made, they said their goodnights and made their way upstairs. Harry showered quickly and slid into bed in just a pair of underpants. He had left every piece of hand-me-down clothing behind at the Dursleys’ and was in desperate need of some that fit properly. He found the mattress incredibly comfortable, and he snuggled in with a sigh, only to find sleep elusive. The activities of the day swirled through his mind. When he finally managed to doze, his dreams were filled with smoldering dark eyes, and slender, pale fingers stroking him.

* * *

Harry stood next to the fireplace in the kitchen of number twelve, Grimmauld Place early the next morning, having Flooed in from Godric’s Hollow. He had come ahead of the Potions master in order to check on Dobby and find out what was happening with Mundungus Fletcher. As he turned down the hallway, Harry caught his reflection in the old mirror there. Hermione had charmed his hair longer and made it a dark auburn color, falling to his shoulders in a soft wave. The longer strands were parted in the middle and draped along the sides of his face, and Muggle make-up effectively covered his scar. The bushy-haired witch had changed his eye color to hazel, and his whole appearance seemed softer and younger.

“Harry Potter!” Dobby popped into existence next to him, grabbing him around the knees exuberantly. Apparently Harry’s disguise was not enough to conceal his identity from the house-elf.

Harry smiled down at his little friend. “Hi, Dobby, how are things here?”

“It is being fine here, Harry Potter.” The diminutive creature bounced up and down as he continued, “Mundungus Fletcher is still not remembering about the locket, but…”

Frowning, Harry cut him off. “Where is he, Dobby?”

He followed the house-elf to the second floor, where the door to the smallest room in the house was unlocked and opened by a snap of Dobby’s fingers. Stepping into the room, Harry was hit with the sour smell of old sweat and stale drink that he associated with the petty thief who had been a member of the Order of the Phoenix. The floor was cluttered with piles of clothing, a tea tray laden with food, and the black bag Harry remembered from Hogsmeade. A wave of relief coursed through the young wizard when he saw that there was an open door at the far end of the tiny room that revealed an adjoining bathroom; the room was not truly a closet, it was more like a large storage area that Dobby had modified to accommodate their reluctant guest. 

The pile of rags on the narrow cot moved as Harry moved further into the room. Small, blood-shot eyes blinked open, and the ginger-haired man sat up swiftly when he saw who was there.

“Harry! I am so glad to see you! That bloody maniac house-elf locked me in here, blathering about some locket that I, uh, might have misplaced.”

Stepping over to the bed, Harry let the anger welling inside him at the thief’s audacity show in a hard sneer, and Fletcher cowered away from him.

“It is bad enough that you raped Sirius’ memory by stealing his possessions for your own gain, but you have truly mucked things up this time,” Harry spat, his voice pitched low and cold. “The locket you nicked wasn’t Sirius’; it had been stolen from Voldemort by his brother, Regulus!” He let that information sink in for a moment before dealing the final blow. “And you are free to go if you want to, Dung, as I am sure that Voldemort would love to speak to you about how you sold one of his prized possessions!”

The bandy-legged sneak-thief gaped at him, and Harry smirked, backing out of the room slowly. “I’ll let you think about which of us you want to face, Dung, but if you chose to stay here in safety, you had better come up with a name and do it quickly!”

Slamming the door behind him, Harry watched as Dobby waved a hand at the door, no doubt re-erecting the locking and magic-dampening charms. 

“Please let me know if he decides to tell us anything, Dobby.”

“Of course, Harry Potter, sir!” Dobby hugged his knees again. “Dobby is checking on Kreacher, too, making sure he is working in the kitchens at Hogwarts.”

“Thank you, Dobby,” the young man replied as he moved towards the stairs.

Snape stood in the kitchen, sipping on a cup of tea as Harry walked into the room, and the older wizard stared at him over the rim of his cup. Suddenly self-conscious, Harry stopped inside the door and brushed non-existent wrinkles out of the front of his blue robes. Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and looked up at the Potions master, whose light brown robes complimented his new coloring. Amused golden eyes took in the flush the he could not hide, and Harry frowned, hating the feeling of inadequacy that Severus Snape always seemed to bring out in him.

“I spoke to Mundungus; I told him he could talk to us or he could explain it to Vold…the Dark Lord,” he finished, in deference to his companion. 

With a nod, the taller man set his cup on the table and turned to give Harry another calculating look.

“I am amazed at how much you resemble your mother with that coloring, Harry,” he said quietly. “Are you ready to leave? The trip might be a bit longer than I originally planned; I need to go to the apothecary, and there are a few ingredients that may require a visit to less reputable dealers.”

The two wizards followed the walkway in front of the house far enough away to be inconspicuous, and then Snape led them in a guided Apparation to an alley off the main thoroughfare of Diagon Alley. His heart was in his throat and his hand clenched around his wand in his pocket as Harry waited a heartbeat for any reaction. No one in the street looked up as they stepped out into the weak sunlight and made their way at a steady pace toward Slug and Jiggers Apothecary. Once there, the Potions master chose his ingredients with an educated eye, declining an exotic herb the wrong shade of orange, and demanding the clerk check the stock in the storeroom for a fresher batch. 

While the clerk was occupied, Harry reached into the pocket of his robe, drawing out his money pouch. Reaching in to take a handful of galleons, he tied it shut again before surreptitiously passing the pouch to Snape as he walked by him toward the prepared potions that lined the opposite wall. He glanced at the labeled vials of liquid on the neatly stocked shelves, seeing every shade of the rainbow, recognizing many of the potions by sight; potions for hangovers, philters for contraception, and treatments for menstrual problems. His eyes fixed momentarily on a row of flavored lubrication potions before he tore them away to stare at the floor, his face burning. He needed to get out of here, out of this aisle, out of this store.

“I will meet you next door, Devon,” he announced quietly as the clerk sidled back into the room, and the older wizard nodded absently as he examined the new batch of herbs.

Escaping to Madam Malkin’s, Harry went through ritual of being measured by the magical tape measure, then ordered a complete selection of robes, trousers, shirts, and pants in a variety colors. Making sure two of the robes were in the open style that wizards used for dueling, he picked out a black fabric that was spelled to repel most simple hexes. He still wanted to get a selection of Muggle jeans and shirts, but that would have to wait for a more convenient time. Making arrangements to pick the altered clothing up in about an hour, Harry made his way to Flourish and Blotts, which was next door to the apothecary.

Spying his companion in the section of the bookstore that housed potions texts, Harry made his way unhurriedly to his side, noting what looked like an ancient notebook disappear into a pocket at his approach. With a tilt of his head, the Slytherin led the way out of the store, and they started back down the alley, both watchful and mindful of their surroundings. It was telling to Harry that there were only a handful of people shopping on this sunny day, which grew warmer as the morning waned. There were few shops still open. They walked back past Madam Malkin’s and the darkened windows of the closed Ice Cream Parlor. Further down the street, Harry could see a slightly larger crowd of people near Fred and George’s flourishing joke shop.

Sliding into the shadows, Harry followed Snape as he moved soundlessly into Knockturn Alley. It was dark and dank; the smells assailing him brought back memories of his trip with the Weasleys to Diagon Alley the summer before his second year, and his accidental Floo ride to Borgin and Burkes. Staying close behind the taller wizard, Harry kept his eyes moving, feeling the Dark magic flow around them in this place. He followed the Potions master halfway down the block to another apothecary slipped in the door seconds after him. Standing just to one side of the entry, he slid his hands into his pockets, his right hand wrapped firmly around his wand. The mutter of low voices told him that Snape was bargaining with the waxy-faced, ancient wizard behind the counter. This continued for several minutes, until an exasperated Snape yanked up the sleeve of his left arm, and Harry knew he was showing the clerk his Dark Mark. It seemed like mere seconds after that they were out the door with the desired items.

As they made their way back toward Diagon Alley, Harry heard the murmur of voices approaching them and glanced up to see Bellatrix Lestrange deep in conversation with Fenrir Greyback. Panicking, forgetting that he and Snape were both disguised, Harry acted on instinct; he pivoted and stepped in front of Snape, wrapping his arms around him and pushing him into the dark alcove they had just passed. In the faint light from the street, he saw the thin lips curl into a snarl, and Harry did the first thing that came to mind to silence the tell-tale snark. He wrapped an arm around his waist and slid a hand into the soft golden-brown hair and, pulling Snape’s head down, kissed him.

A jolt of sensation shot through Harry like a bolt of lightning as his partially open lips covered Snape’s. Adjusting the angle of his mouth and fighting the edge of panic, praying that their awkwardness would not be apparent to any observers, he tentatively swiped his tongue across the lower lip of the stone-still man in his arms. The murmur of voices at the edge of his hearing spurred him on more, and Harry dived in with renewed vigor. After a moment’s hesitation, Snape was kissing him back, and his response had Harry drowning in delightful new sensation. The kisses he had shared with Ginny Weasley had been warm, gentle, and pleasant for him, but this kiss was raw and hungry, sending waves of arousal through his body. Harry could feel his cock harden as his tongue tangled with the other’s wet heat.

“My, what luscious young men, Bella. I think I will stop and join in the fun.” The voice sent a shiver of revulsion through Harry, and he began to pull back.

“You idiot, Fenrir, we have no time for your baser pleasures at the moment! Even if these two are very pretty…”

Harry had pulled back his head and turned slightly, allowing his right hand to fall from the Potions master’s waist into his pocket, wrapping around his wand. Feeling a similar action on the part of the man he was now pressed against, he heard Bellatrix cackle loudly, and tightened his hand, ready to pull Snape closer to bring their lips together again if necessary.

“We have our orders, and must get to back to the Dark Lord with our report. I, for one, would like nothing better than to be the one who finds Potter or one of his little friends to take to our Master! You can have all the redheaded blood-traitors we come across, now come on!”

Harry slowly loosened his grip and pulled away from his professor. Emotions swirled and collided inside him as he took a step back, listening as the footsteps receded. Feeling his face heat, the teenager dropped his eyes to the ground, not daring to look at the loathing and disgust he was sure were evident on the Slytherin’s face. He had assaulted the man, forcing himself on Snape not once but twice in the past ten minutes. Even though the voice inside him reminded him that his quick thinking had protected them both from Fenrir Greyback, he could not shake the feeling that he’d done something unforgivable. It seemed that his uncle had been right about him all along: he was an abnormal freak.

A hand on his arm startled him, and Harry looked up fearfully, only to see the usual neutral mask on Snape’s face. Twin spots of color high on his cheeks were the only sign that anything unusual had happened.

“We need to get back.”

Harry nodded and walked beside the taller wizard back to Madam Malkin’s, where they went inside and picked up his new clothing. They used her back door to step into a the delivery alley. There, the teenager gingerly took the arm that the Potions master extended to him, and together they Apparated back to Grimmauld Place. Dobby had no news, so the pair did not stay, instead using the fireplace to Floo back to Godric’s Hollow. 

Snape immediately headed for the small room they had set up as a potions lab, and Harry made his way up to his bedroom. Tossing the parcel of clothes onto the bed, he moved to stand by the window; he stared down at the stream below with sightless eyes, his thoughts turned inward. What had happened in that alcove in Knockturn Alley? Resting his head on the cool windowpane, he tried to justify his actions to himself. Why hadn’t he just kept walking? Why did he think the two Death Eaters would recognize either of them with their disguised appearances? 

Taking a deep breath, Harry thought about the Kiss, and more importantly, his reaction to it. His body stirred at the mere thought of the heat and sensations of those lips. Bloody hell, he thought with a silent moan, Snape’s lips! What in the hell was going on with him? Why couldn’t he feel that incredible desire when he kissed Ginny? Why did it have to be Snape? To think that the one person in the world who had stirred his desires so intensely with a mere kiss was the one person who truly disliked him…. Perhaps, he reasoned, it wasn’t Snape; it was simply that had been the first time he kissed a man. Maybe his reaction was just because he had finally kissed someone of his true preference? He had nothing against same sex couples, despite hearing his Uncle Vernon’s complaints about ‘nancy boys’ and ‘poofs’. Harry had just thought the couples lucky to have found someone to love, and to love back. Sighing, the young man continued to stare blindly down at the flowing water visible between the branches of the trees, feeling like he was truly a freak.

* * *


	14. Reactions

* * *

Severus Snape sat in the luxurious room assigned him in the Potter House in Godric’s Hollow, a small glass of a fine single malt scotch forgotten in his hand, staring into the small fire. They were not far from the coast here, and the dampness seemed to permeate the air this night, settling into places where his body had suffered over the years, making his bones ache. He shifted fractionally closer to the fire, unconsciously seeking warmth. He was becoming more and more comfortable in the guise of Devon Prince, which allowed him to drop many of the tyrannical aspects of his personality that he had acquired over years of teaching and spying. It was almost as if the lightening of his coloring had lifted a weight from his soul as well, and allowed him to become more the person he thought he was capable of being. 

For the thousandth time, that afternoon’s episode in Knockturn Alley ran through his mind, and he gritted his teeth. It was not so much that the boy had had the intelligence to act instinctively while panicked, or even that he would have the courage to act immediately on his idea without consideration of what he was doing; no, he was preoccupied by the lightning bolts of sensation and arousal that had nearly taken him to his knees when those lips closed over his. He had known since the first time their fingers had brushed at Albus’ home, sending a tingle of compatible magic racing up his arm, that they were soul mates, but Severus was aware that Harry had not yet come to the same conclusion. The source of his distraction was irritation and an underlying, unacknowledged sense of rejection at Harry’s reaction: the teenager, despite his obvious arousal, had abruptly retreated from their kiss, and the revulsion evident in the emerald eyes had cut the older man deeply. A sigh escaped Severus as he took a sip of the amber liquid in the crystal tumbler, not sure whether he had the patience to deal with a confused teenager on top of the life and death struggle against the Dark Lord. After all, it was not as if he had ever expected to find happiness.

hpsshpsshpsshpsshpss

The dagger was in a hollowed-out rock outcropping near a wide spot in the babbling stream, sealed within a huge boulder, which glowed a familiar bright blue as the Potions master chanted a string of Latin softy. Remembering the archway in the cave, Harry did not hesitate to cut his palm and press it into the stone. Hermione gasped at his action, and Snape grabbed his arm angrily to inspect and then heal the laceration with the tip of his wand. In the brief amount of time that took, the boulder melted back into to the outcropping and the glint of gold became visible in the shallow space that was revealed. The sunlight bleached the blue protective field to a mere glimmer of the brightness Harry had remembered from the Chamber of Secrets, but it was no less lethal, he was sure. Exchanging a glance with the older man, Harry drew his wand and stood shoulder to shoulder with him. Ron and Hermione looked on curiously. 

“Do you want to try separately first, or just go ahead and do what we did in the Chamber?” Harry asked, his eyes still on the dagger suspended an arm’s length away.

“I believe we should do it simultaneously, as we did for Hufflepuff’s cup,” the taller man said as he raised his wand.

Following suit, Harry raised his own and began to chant his self-made spell in Parseltongue, hearing Snape speaking a string of Latin words. The blue field wavered, then returned full force before finally disappearing with an audible _crack_. Knowing better this time, Harry stayed where he was, watching the Potions master step forward to closely examine the dagger. Hermione moved toward it as well, craning her head to one side to get a better look at the artifact. The golden surface gleamed in the reflected sunlight, giving the dagger a glow as if lit from within. It was an awe-inspiring weapon, and Harry found that he wanted it back in its rightful place in the Potter library.

After an exhaustive number of counter-charms and curse-reversal spells in English, Latin, and Parseltongue, the dagger still hung suspended inside its hollow, seemingly unaffected and undamaged. Frustrated beyond measure, Harry had to be restrained again by a hand closing over his forearm, the now familiar tingling shooting along his skin. Resisting the urge to lean into the touch, Harry yanked his arm away and glared at the older man. Hermione watched the two with an interested look before coming to Harry’s rescue.

“I think the same protections that guard this property from strangers are preventing us from bringing it out,” she pointed out to them. “I believe Harry must retrieve it.”

Glancing over at Snape, Harry made eye contact and watched as the older wizard pondered the information, eventually nodding his agreement. Taking a step forward, the teenager slipped his wand back into its holster, then gingerly stretched out his hand to lay a fingertip on the hilt of the dagger. He pulled back immediately, surprised to feel the metal warm to the touch. When nothing happened, he reached back in and grasped the hilt, pulling it gently toward him. There was a slight prickling sensation along his palm, and Harry released the dagger, levitating it wandlessly out of the hollowed space. Snape moved the boulder back into place with his wand before coming to examine the knife.

“The Horcrux is still intact, Harry, we must destroy it in the same manner as before.”

Harry nodded and glanced at Hermione. “Can you levitate this for us?”

“ _Wingardium Leviosa!_ ” The witch flicked her wand, moving the artifact so that it was hovering in front of a dirt embankment. Ron stood silently by her side, watching the three at their task.

Snape began the chant in Latin, while the Parseltongue spell Harry had cast in the Chamber of Secrets slipped smoothly from his lips.

“ _Expel and destroy the evil soul contained within_.”

The brilliant white light flared almost instantaneously this time, confirming the Slytherin’s guess that Voldemort made the dagger a Horcrux before being forced to abandon it inside the Potters’ wards. The evil wizard had not hesitated to secure it in the same maniacal manner as he had the others, as it would only be a Potter or an heir of Godric Gryffindor who could have retrieved the artifact from its hiding spot. And after all, Voldemort knew that either of those was nearly impossible, given the requirement of a Parselmouth to remove the wards, never mind the fact that he had already planned the younger Potters’ deaths. With grim determination, Harry strode forward and wrapped his hand around the heirloom that had been in his family for a millennium. This time there was no Dark magic to tingle against his flesh, and he flashed a smile at Devon as the older man waved the light golden wand given to him by the Headmaster over the dagger.

 

“It appears we were successful; another of the Horcruxes has been destroyed.”

Hermione threw an arm around each of them in a spontaneous hug, and Ron pounded Harry on the back. They made their way back up to the house, where Harry summoned Nerel and handed him the dagger to be cleaned and returned to its rightful place. The diminutive creature was sobbing with relief and joy as he disappeared to take care of his chore. That taken care of, the group made their way back to the library. They all knew that there were three more Horcruxes to be found and destroyed before Harry could successfully kill Voldemort.

“All right now,” Hermione said as she and Ron collapsed on the sofa, while Harry and Devon took the chairs. “The diary was first Horcrux, destroyed by Harry in the Chamber of Secrets.” She bent over a piece of parchment. “Professor Dumbledore took care of Slytherin’s ring; Harry and Devon have destroyed the Horcruxes in Hufflepuff’s cup and Gryffindor’s dagger. The locket is outstanding, thanks to Mundungus, but at least we know about it.”

Everyone muttered their agreement as Hermione summoned a piece of parchment from the desk, then dipped her quill into the ink bottle sitting on the lower table before starting to make notes.

“Professor Dumbledore believed that Nagini was one of the other two Horcruxes, because she did not behave quite like a snake,” Harry commented. “How is it possible for a living thing to house someone else’s soul?” 

Harry knew what his question was really asking, but he was not sure any of them truly understood. Hermione looked searchingly to the Potions master at the question, who returned her gaze with an arched eyebrow. With a sigh, the witch chose not to address the question, though her soft brown eyes refocused on Harry in such a way as to tell him that she knew.

“There is so little information on Horcruxes, and what little public information exists is almost impossible to obtain. You must have special permission from the Minister of Magic to research it in the Wizarding Library at the Ministry!”

The older wizard nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. “I believe Regulus had knowledge of what a Horcrux was prior to joining the Death Eaters, as he was the only one of us who recognized what was happening all those years ago. He knew enough to go after the locket and successfully retrieve it, and I am almost positive that he would have destroyed the soul in it as soon as he was able to. This suggests to me that there may be something in the Black Library at Grimmauld Place.”

Hermione nodded and made another note on the parchment.

“Devon,” Harry spoke up again, his eyes focused at a point to the left of the man’s nose, still unable to look him in the eye. “Do you think Salazar Slytherin would have anything on Horcruxes in his study in the Chamber?”

“Possibly. It is certainly another place that we should search,” Harry could feel the heat of those eyes as the rested on his face. “I am of the opinion that whether or not the snake is a Horcrux, there is still an additional one outstanding if Albus’ theory of seven Horcruxes is indeed correct.”

“Something of Ravenclaw’s,” Ron muttered, and then flushed when he discovered he had said it out loud, and saw he was the center of attention. “Well, I mean, Volde…Voldemort has used something of each of the Founders except Ravenclaw. So maybe we need to start searching there.”

“You’re right, Ron,” Harry agreed with a grin. “Dumbledore thought so too, but he did not know of any remaining possessions of Rowena Ravenclaw that could have been used.”

“That might be something we can find out by tracking down any remaining descendents, or perhaps Gringotts could tell us if there was an heirloom vault left there,” Hermione wondered, pausing to jot down a couple more notes. 

“It would appear that we have two potential information sources, both of which are at relatively safe locations,” Devon pointed out, sitting back in his chair.

Hermione picked her parchment up from the table and studied it for a moment before looking at him with a smile. “It makes sense to me, then, that we split into two teams. That way, we’ll get the most accomplished in the least amount of time, and then we can meet up to compare notes. I think it would be best if Ron and I start at Grimmauld Place, while Devon and Harry go back to the Chamber of Secrets.”

Harry shifted slightly in his chair, wondering if the Potions master would refuse to be alone with him. It was with considerable surprise that he heard the Slytherin acquiesce to the plans almost immediately. Maybe it was possible that the older wizard was willing to overlook his actions the previous morning, and trusted him to keep his hands and lips to himself. He had to close his eyes to cover the heated flash of arousal that hit him at the thought of the kiss he’d forced on the man. Harry was disgusted with himself, but the cold wash of shame was not enough to quell the flame in his gut, and it took sheer force of will, along with some revoltingly graphic images, to wilt his persistent ‘problem’.

After working out their schedule, at Hermione’s insistence it was duly documented on the witch’s parchment. Harry had to hide a snicker behind his hand as he caught both Ron and Devon rolling their eyes at the young woman’s enthusiasm. Excusing himself, he made his way to the sitting room, where he summoned Nerel to confirm that the house was still part of the Floo Network. As much as he hated Flooing, Harry knew he would have to endure it until he could take his Apparation test at the end of the month. 

His sleep was disrupted that night by images of warm, seeking lips and slender fingers stroking his body to a heated state. He arched into the gentle touch, only to have the image transform into skeletal fingers digging into his flesh. Laughing Death Eaters restrained him as Voldemort began to disrobe, his high-pitched laughter reverberating through the room as Harry fought to get free.

“Harry! It’s just a nightmare! Harry!”

Trembling violently, Harry was pulled into a loose embrace. Unable to stem the tears of relief and reaction, he let himself be pressed into a warm chest by the arms holding him. It was several minutes before he was able to pull himself together; the safety and comfort of the arms that held him gave him a feeling of security. It was an unfamiliar feeling. The warmth of the bare skin underneath his cheek and the hand carding softly through his hair had almost lulled him back to sleep. 

“Harry?” a silky baritone rumbled under his ear, and Harry’s eyes snapped open.

Jumping away as if burned, Harry was across the bed before he knew it, instantly apologetic, his head suddenly shooting with pain. 

“I am so sorry, sir! I…”

He missed the weary look of resignation that flashed across the older man’s face. “Calm yourself, Potter! It was simply a nightmare, I believe.”

“Yes, sir, thank you, sir,” Harry answered in a hoarse whisper to Devon’s back as the wizard left without a backward glance.

hpsshpsshpsshpsshpss

It was a subdued Harry who followed the Potions master through the Floo into the Headmistress’ office at Hogwarts the next afternoon. Minerva McGonagall greeted them both as they stepped out, her shrewd eyes examining his downcast face. The portrait of Dumbledore had already been updated about their success in Godric’s Hollow, and Harry left it to Devon to retell their tale to his colleague. Standing patiently beside the door, Harry thought back over the day.

All four of them had Flooed back to Grimmauld Place, where Dobby reported that there had been no progress made with Mundungus Fletcher. Hermione and Ron went upstairs to put their things away, while Harry spoke to Dobby about Godric’s Hollow and the house-elves there. The normally bubbly house-elf was subdued as he listened intently to the story, promising to check on the family and get them anything Nerel thought they might need. Dobby also told Harry that Kreacher was still working in the kitchens at Hogwarts, and Winky was keeping an eye on him. Apparently Kreacher had offended the female house-elf, and it had pulled her out of her butterbeer-induced haze to keep him in line. Harry smothered a grin at the mental picture.

After lunch, Harry and Devon had Flooed to the house Albus Dumbledore had left them, where Fawkes had greeted them enthusiastically. The Potions master had been polite but cool this morning, reverting to more Snape-ish traits, Harry thought, but he could not figure out why. The older man moved carefully, staying well away from Harry, as if he didn’t want the Gryffindor to accidentally touch him, which saddened him. He had gathered the owl post that had been delivered in the three days they had been away and headed to the sitting room to peruse it. Harry puttered around in the kitchen, putting together a parcel of food to take with them, knowing that they would probably spend the next four days in the Chamber, until the next scheduled check-in with Ron and Hermione.

“Come along, Mister Potter.” The Potions master brushed by him as he exited the door, and with a smile towards the Headmistress, Harry followed.

They had left their brooms in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom on the second floor, and Harry grabbed his before hissing at the sink to open. Without looking at his silent companion, he jumped into the opening, enjoying the now familiar breathtaking slide down the pipe. The torches in the hallway lit immediately as he set the broom against a wall and waited for Snape to do the same when he landed elegantly beside him. Irritation slid through him: only the Slytherin could take a ride like that and still land gracefully. Without a word, the two walked down the corridor to the doorway leading into the Chamber, which Harry opened without a thought to what language he was speaking, and moved into the main chamber to the foot of the giant statue of Salazar Slytherin.

The founder’s rooms were just as they had left them. Before setting his bag down, Devon dismantled the wards they had left in place with a wave of his hand, then immediately headed toward the desk in the study. Watching the man’s retreating back, Harry sighed and moved to the opposite end of the large chamber. Without drawing his wand, Harry waved his hand and once again created the small sitting area, kitchen, bathroom and two camp cots near the fireplace. He set his bag down on the bed he had used before, taking off his outer robes as the fire warmed the room, leaving him in a jumper and jeans.

With another sigh, Harry unloaded the food he had brought in the area they used as a kitchen and spelled an empty cupboard to stay cold. He felt terribly confused, both by his own feelings and by what he could read in the older man’s actions. It had become painfully obvious that Devon hated Harry touching him, as Snape would have, but it was something he had found himself yearning to do since that afternoon in Knockturn Alley. In his newly awakened awareness of the older man, it seemed like he was being pulled toward the Slytherin.

Sinking down onto the bed, Harry buried his face in his hands. In the past week and a half, he had accepted a vow to protect a man who hated him and had committed murder in front of his eyes, he had begun to question his own sexuality, and then confirmed his leanings with a mind-blowing kiss that he had forced on that self-same man, who hated him. Moaning, giving in to a moment of self-pity, the young man shook his head. Why wasn’t anything in his life easy?

Ruthlessly shoving the confused feelings into his mental trunk, Harry stood, straightened his jumper, and walked purposefully toward Salazar Slytherin’s study. The alcove that contained the fake Hufflepuff cup glowed in the faint blue light of the warding spell. The tall figure of Hogwarts’ Potions master was bent over something on the edge of Slytherin’s massive desk. Stopping at the end of the bookshelves, Harry was surprised as the image of Severus Snape, robes swirling and dark eyes snapping, barged against his mind as he looked at the man across the room. Sad, he thought, that it was the greasy git who stirred Harry’s interest, and not the soft changes brought on by the Devon Prince persona. Harry was already having trouble remembering to call him by the correct name. God, he thought disgusted at himself, how much more abnormal could he get?

Shaking his head, the Gryffindor moved closer to the shelves and began to study the ancient books there without touching them. There were titles in English, Latin, Parseltongue, and several languages that Harry could not identify. Feeling at a loss as to how exactly he was going to find a book that dealt with ripping one’s soul apart, the teenager started by scanning the titles for any reference to Horcruxes, Dark Magic, or anything to do with souls. The Parseltongue titles he had to sound out, never having seen the language in written form before. It was not until he read the third title that Harry noticed that his companion stiffened and shifted each time he spoke in Parseltongue. Aghast, he realized that the older wizard must be one of those who were uncomfortable with his ‘special ability’. For some reason, that saddened him, and Harry stood abruptly.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he apologized quietly, his posture rigid. “I didn’t know you did not like Parseltongue.”

The older man straightened and turned to look at Harry, really look at him, for the first time all day.

“What are you going on about, Potter?” The golden eyes met his and Harry felt a jolt of something shiver through him and settle in his groin.

“You seemed uncomfortable when I spoke in Parseltongue,” he says carefully. “I did not mean to upset you.”

The piercing eyes held his. “You did not upset me, Harry. Quite the opposite, actually; I envy your ability to speak the language of serpents.”

Harry nodded hesitantly, but he was still confused. Nonetheless, when he returned to his search of the books, the silence between the pair was a little less strained. They worked steadily until the rumbling of Harry’s stomach told him it was time for dinner. Levitating the two fragile books that seemed promising, Harry moved them careful over to the desk. 

Settling them gently on the top at the opposite corner where Devon was working, Harry turned quickly away from the older wizard before he disturbed him. In his haste, the toe of his trainers caught an edge on the flagstone floor, and he pitched forward toward the Slytherin. Strong hands caught him by the shoulders. Harry’s hands grappled for purchase, sliding up the older man’s forearms under the sleeves of his robe. His fingertips tingled when they ran along the warmth of bare skin, and he panicked, trying to pull away.

“I’m sorry!” Harry cried, trying to take a step back, but the hands held him firm. “I know you hate me touching you, I’m sorry!”

“What are you talking about, Potter?” the deep voice growled at him, and Harry felt himself shaken by the shoulders. “It is you who is repulsed by me, you who cannot stand to touch me!”

“No!” Harry protested, looking up into furious eyes. “I attacked you! I thought you were disgusted by…by what I did!”

“Disgusted?” the older man repeated. “I’ll show you how disgusted I was!”

Harry was yanked forward, and wrapped in the strong arms he had dreamed of. The hard lips that descended on his were not gentle, taking advantage of his parted lips to plunder his mouth. One of them moaned – Harry was afraid it was him – when he stepped closer to the tall, lean body and wrapped his arms around the slender waist. A hand slid up to cup the back of his head, and the kiss gentled, changing to a tasting and teasing exploration by Severus’ tongue. Melting completely, the Gryffindor pressed his erection into the lean figure he was wrapped around, and a thrill shot through him at the feel of an answering hardness. Harry whimpered when the older man finally pulled his mouth away, his arms continuing to press the teenager against him, holding him close to the black-clad chest as their breathing slowly calmed.

Pulling back, the golden eyes sought his, and Harry could only stare at the warmth they saw there. “I do not hate you, Harry.” 

Harry watched as the man pulled slowly away from him, the effort visible, and steadied him before brushing a knuckle across Harry’s cheek. Snape then turned to head out of the study.

“Dinner time, I think.”

The young man could only watch as Severus Snape, in the guise of Devon Prince, walked away. His body still hummed with arousal, and he was unable to believe the latest twist life had thrown at him – he’d just been snogged senseless by Snape, and damned if he didn’t want more!

* * *


	15. Questions

* * *

Dinner was a quiet affair, with both men lost in their own thoughts as they ate a dish that the Potions master had prepared. Harry chewed and swallowed automatically, so distracted by his body’s perpetual state of arousal that he wasn’t even sure what he was eating. _Gods_ , he thought, _how pathetic can I be_? He stole a glance across the table, flushing when their eyes met, dropping his gaze quickly as - Snape? Devon? Bloody hell, he didn’t even know what to call the man! 

“Harry-” the professor started.

“Sir-” Harry said at the same time, stopping with a nervous grin.

“Yes?” the older man prompted him, his eyes finally meeting Harry’s again.

“I…I don’t know what I should call you when we are here alone. Professor, Devon, or…” or the name he moaned in the shower as he thought of burning onyx eyes and slender, stroking fingers, Severus. 

“I suppose, under the circumstances, that you should call me Devon.” The reply was neutral, but the eyes lost a little of their warmth.

“All right, Devon, I was just going to say that I would handle the clean-up.”

The older man seemed disappointed somehow as he stood and moved back toward the study, but Harry wasn’t sure what he had done. Moving to the kitchen area, Harry began to straighten up, resorting to doing much of it manually to give himself time to think. The teenager couldn’t help but wonder how quickly everything had changed. Putting aside the knowledge he’d learned about Sev… _Devon_ and the vow he’d accepted, something else had happened, something that had always made Harry respect the man, yet hate him passionately at the same time. Looking inside himself, Harry wasn’t able to find the burning hate that he knew should be there. _Ah_ , said the little monster in his chest in a voice that sounded suspiciously like Dumbledore’s, _but it is a thin line that separates hate from love_. Snarling at the voice, the young wizard finished his chores with a wave of his hand, the ache in his chest mirroring the one behind his eyes.

Settling into one of the comfortable armchairs, Harry summoned one of the books he’d found, and carefully propped it open on his lap. Remembering the protective spell Snape - _Devon_ had taught him on their last visit, the teen began thumbing carefully through the pages, searching the small print in search of any reference to Horcruxes. The text was written in Old English, the reading laborious, making Harry fear that he’d miss something important in the unfamiliar phrasing.

Several hours later, Harry set the Founder’s book carefully aside and stood, arching his back to stretch the tired muscles. Making his way to the kitchen, the Gryffindor assembled a small tea tray, adding the ginger newts he had found in the cupboard of the house Dumbledore had left them. Levitating it into the study, he settled it silently on Slytherin’s desk. The Potions master stood at the far end of the shelves once again, a small journal in hand. He had shed his robes at some point, and he now stood at the other end of the room in a pale blue shirt and black trousers. The sleeves were rolled up to reveal well-developed forearms, lightly dusted with dark hair. 

Compelled by something he could not quite understand, Harry moved to the taller man and reached out an unsteady hand to lay it on the strip of bare skin. Tingles immediately teased his fingertips and sent a jolt of arousal to his groin, but Harry did not pull away. Golden eyes rose slowly to meet his, carefully blanked to match the man’s neutral facial expression. The younger man knew this sensation was something special, but he could not remember what it was. They stared at each other for several long minutes, the tingling intensifying as Harry continued to look up, searching. Tawny eyes regarded him somberly.

Harry opened his mouth to tell Devon about tea. “I don’t hate you,” slipped out instead. He felt his face heat, but did not look away.

“I am…pleased to hear that,” the older wizard said quietly, his eyes fixed on the expressive features.

Tracing his fingers up the warm arm, feeling tendrils of compatible magic playing between them, Harry leaned closer. “This means something, doesn’t it?” 

Those eyes caressed his face as the unencumbered arm moved, and gentle fingers smoothed his fringe away from his eyes.

“Yes, it does.” Devon dropped his hand. “Shall I pour the tea?”

It took Harry a moment to adjust to the change in conversation; while he did so the older man withdrew, moving around him to the other side of the desk. More confused than ever, the teenager joined him. Accepting a cup, he blew across the hot surface before taking a tentative sip of the steaming liquid. The Potions master had moved back toward the shelves, and Harry’s eyes followed his graceful movements. 

Biting back the sigh that was trying to push its way out, the Gryffindor sat down on the edge of the desk, noticing for the first time a neat stack of parchment sitting on one corner. Leaning toward it, he could see that the top sheet was covered in the spidery script Harry recognized as the Potions master’s. The image of a Pensieve flashed through his mind, and when he glanced over at Devon, he saw the golden eyes watching him.

“May I look at what you’ve written?”

“Yes, Harry, you may.”

Pulling the parchment closer, he began to read through the notes the Slytherin had taken, summaries of references to splitting a soul, and the benefits to doing such a thing. Sickened by the twisted logic used to justify the ripping of one’s soul apart by killing another human being, Harry set the notes to one side gingerly. The darkness that he could feel in the words and the implied actions were immeasurable, and he knew that the beast that had taken these ideals to heart had to be stopped. 

Feeling dirty, he excused himself quietly and made his way to the bathroom, where he stood for a long time under the water. The evil that called itself Lord Voldemort had to be stopped before it could kill anyone else, destroying other families and lives. Stiffening his spine with his knowledge of the prophecy, Harry sighed and turned off the water. He dried off, pulled on his sleeping pants, and slipped into his cot, his thoughts heavy and introspective. There was no way he could even think about a life or a future until the monster was destroyed, and he could only hope that there was enough strength in him to push back the darkness he was afraid would taint his soul. There was also his connection to the evil bastard through the lightning bolt scar on his forehead to consider. He had no idea what effect Voldemort’s death would have on him, whether he even had a future to contemplate. Curling up into a ball, he lost himself in thoughts of what could happen.

When Severus Snape stepped down from the study, his eyes burning and his back aching from sitting hunched over the desk, he was surprised by the sight of the young wizard buried in his bed, curled into a fetal position. Moving quietly past, he tried not to assume that he was the source of the young man’s distress. Showering quickly, the Potions master returned to the chamber to find that Harry had not moved. Sitting on the edge of the camp cot, he peeled the blanket down until he could see the teenager’s face.

“Harry? Are you alright?”

The emerald eyes opened, and he could see overwhelming sadness in them.

“Yes, I was just thinking of everything I…we have to do, before any of us can move on. It is just a bit intimidating, you know?”

“Yes,” he agreed quietly. “I understand, but I am confident that we will accomplish what we must.”

Harry nodded before burying his head in his pillow. Severus could not resist stroking his hand gently through the cap of wild raven hair before getting up, and he was gratified when the younger man leaned into his touch. Sliding into his cot, the Slytherin waved the torches down and lay for a long time staring at the flickering shadows cast by the small fire that burned in the fireplace. The young man an arm’s length away had had burdens thrust upon him that would have crushed any full grown witch or wizard, and Severus marveled at Harry’s strength of will. How the teenager could still have the aura of innocence about him, despite possessing eyes that held the soul of one five times his age, he did not know. 

Closing his eyes with a sigh, the Potions master relived the kiss the two had shared early that day, marveling at the powerful emotions it continued to stir. Severus was by no means a blushing virgin, having taken lovers male and female in the past, along with participating in activities he’d rather forget in his early days as a loyal Death Eater. His soul was tainted, a legacy of the Unforgivables he’d cast, and no matter what Albus Dumbledore said, there was no way to erase that kind of stain. How could he be the soul mate of a young man whose dedication to the Light was so all-encompassing? A small smile played around the corners of his lips as he slipped into sleep: Harry had not seemed to object too much when he had kissed him, perhaps there was a chance for a happier future after all.

hpsshpsshpss

The two wizards spent the majority of the next day harvesting what little remained of the basilisk, which they had stored in a niche of the chamber before departing for the Weasley wedding. Some orders for specific parts had arrived while they were in Godric’s Hollow. A witch in Wales had paid handsomely for a large section of skin, and Harry shuddered as he helped the older man peel back the skin and spell it with a preservation charm before tightly folding and binding it for delivery. There had also been high interest in the blood and venom, and he was glad that Devon had decided not to sell the deadly poison, which could only be used to evil purpose. Lost in their own thoughts, the pair worked diligently through the morning and into the afternoon with a minimum of conversation, in an amiable quiet.

After both men had showered away the remnants of the morning’s efforts, Harry set to work throwing together a late lunch for them to eat. The Potions master had disappeared back into the study, Harry noticed as he set the tray on low table between the chairs. Devon stepped back in as Harry began pouring tea, and set several books down on his camp cot, along with the parchment containing his notes. He settled into the empty chair and took a bowl of onion soup from the tray. Harry had used left over bacon from breakfast to make sandwiches to go with the soup, and he relaxed back into the chair with one, his eyes on his companion.

“Prof…Devon, can I ask you something?”

Amber eyes lifted from his bowl warily, but he nodded.

Harry wasn’t sure quite how to phrase what he truly wanted to ask, how to phrase something that had bothered him for so long. “If we are right, and we have already destroyed four of the Horcruxes and identified the locket as another, then we only have to identify the last one, right? If what Professor Dumbledore said holds true and Voldemort split his soul into seven pieces, then isn’t the seventh one still inside him?”

“I believe you are correct. The Dark Lord retained one piece of his soul when the Killing Curse rebounded on him that night in Godric’s Hollow, and he had created six Horcruxes to house the others,” the older man told him, reaching for one of the sandwiches.

“If that is the case, then we have to determine whether the last Horcrux is Nagini, as the Headmaster thought, or…” Harry trailed off, unsure whether he wanted to verbalize his fears. “Or is it possible that the last Horcrux is…is my scar?”

The golden eyes studied his face intently, and Harry tried not to flinch under the scrutiny. “I am not sure what exactly transpired that night, Harry, and what ‘essence’, for lack of a better term, might have been transferred to you. I do know that the other Horcruxes were vessels that were carefully chosen and prepared to house the piece of soul the Dark Lord put in them, and it does make sense that he would have used your death as an opportunity to create another one. I would like to believe that he had already prepared the six Horcruxes in advance, but I cannot be sure.”

A spark of hope flared in Harry’s chest. “That would mean Nagini is not one either, as Vol…the Dark Lord told the Death Eaters that night in the graveyard that he had found her in the jungles where his spirit was wandering, before Quirrell discovered him. If that is the case, then we still have another Horcrux to find.”

The older wizard nodded distractedly, lost in thought. “I can only hope we eliminate at least one of these possibilities through the research we are doing, as I cannot answer your question completely. There was nothing to suggest that the Dark Lord has made a new Horcrux since his return to power, but nothing to prevent him from doing so, particularly since he is aware that the diary was destroyed. He is inexplicably fond of that foul creature, who knows what he might have done? There is a possibility that each of these things you have suggested could be true. I do know from what I have discovered in the books and manuscripts here that it would appear Salazar Slytherin had knowledge of the spell to create Horcruxes, but did not personally approve of its use.”

Setting his half-eaten sandwich back down on the tray, Harry let his own thoughts turn inward. He had to be honest with himself, and admit that with the strength of the connection he shared with the evil wizard, when Voldemort died, so would he. The weigh pressing down on him shifted slightly as Harry admitted to himself that this was his destiny, and he would have to die in order to destroy Voldemort. Perhaps, he thought, his eyes prickling unexpectedly, it would be easier for him to get on with things if he accepted this and moved on, just as the Headmaster had done in the face of his own mortality. This was not a new revelation, Harry realized, thinking back to what he’d said to Ginny at the end of Dumbledore’s funeral, he had just not put it in the proper perspective. 

“Harry,” warm eyes probed his features, “let us not leap to conclusions before we exhaust our research. In fact, I have a journal I believe you might be able to decipher for me. It is written in a script I can’t read, but I think it is Parseltongue.” 

Grateful for the distraction, Harry banished the tray and followed the Potions master back into the study, where the older man showed him the book he was referring to. Harry spent the afternoon reading from the book and jotting down notes on a fresh sheet of parchment, sometimes lapsing into Parseltongue when he encountered a difficult phrase. After he had done this several times, he noticed Snape - _Devon_ seemed to shift uncomfortably in reaction to his soft hissing. Deliberately, the teenager read another sentence out loud, watching the tall wizard out of the corner of his eye. Dressed as he was in only brown trousers and a cream pullover shirt, it was easy to see the telltale bulge of his reaction to the sibilant language. Delighted that he could elicit that type of desire from his companion, the Gryffindor embraced his Slytherin side and filed the information away for later use.

hpsshpsshpss

With a tired sigh, Harry slid into his cot and savored his feeling of accomplishment. They had worked all evening in the library, and had compiled a stack of notes containing raw information right from the Founder’s own words. They included the spells needed to both create and destroy Horcruxes, as well a proximity spell that could detect a Horcrux if there was one in the immediate area. There were other spells to protect and preserve the finished vessels, and information on what happened to a soul when it was split. Even Snape was pleased with the progress they had made, Harry thought sleepily, before reminding himself again, Devon. The little devil in his chest snickered, whispering ‘Severus,’ as he slid into sleep. 

The dream Harry was having of smoldering onyx eyes and soft lips twisted to become the heavily lidded, darkly shadowed face of Bellatrix Lestrange, who cowered under his gaze.

_“We have not found any sign of the Potter brat, my Lord, but we are still looking.”_

_Fenrir Greyback stood in the shadows, watching expectantly as Bellatrix dropped to her knees. “My Lord, what of Snape? Has he managed to do anything worthwhile that might contribute to our search?”_

_The scarlet eyes narrowed, and Harry was furious with the woman. Hadn’t Snape proven his allegiance beyond any doubt less than a month ago?_

_“Crucio!”_

_Fire burned along every nerve ending and Harry screamed as Bellatrix’s body bowed._

_“I will not tolerate your suspicions any longer, Bellatrix. Severus has proven his loyalty to me beyond any doubt, and it is not for you to question.”_

_“Yes, my Lord,” the witch panted, still on all fours on the ground. “There is one other thing, though…”_

_He raised his wand menacingly at her hesitation. “Continue.”_

_“There was a wizard in the apothecary in Knockturn Alley last week who was attempting to buy unicorn blood. The shop keeper did not recognize him, but claims the man forced the purchase out of him by showing him the Dark Mark.”_

The dark stone chamber faded as another wave of white-hot pain seared through his scar. Arms held him, and a hand carded through his hair gently as Harry surfaced through the pain filled fog. His stomach churned and Harry struggled to pull away, only to have a bowl shoved under his face as his stomach emptied. With a groan, he let his head fall back, surprised when it was caught and held. A vial was pressed to his lips.

“Drink this, Harry, you will feel better,” the familiar voice was urging softly.

Harry drank the potion obediently, shuddering at its bitter taste, and was eased up against a hard chest. The chamber was dark, lit only by the flickering fire, and Harry felt the potion working instantly, easing the pounding in his head. Turning his head, he buried his face in the hollow of warm skin, drinking in the feeling of security, pressing close to the warmth that held him. The tingles of magic that he felt running over his skin tonight seemed to reassuring and safe. 

“Why, after a year of Occluding his mind against me, is he doing this again?” Harry moaned.

The hand, which had resumed its stroking, stilled in his hair.

“I believe the Dark Lord wanted you to see this, as he did the last time. He wanted you to know that he had tortured and murdered a year mate of yours. I think he also wished to terrorize you with it, especially now that Albus isn’t here to help you.” There was a slight pause. “May I ask you what you saw?”

Harry lifted his head and struggled to sit up enough to talk, leaning heavily against the older man. “Bellatrix and Greyback were there to give a report on the progress they had made in finding me. When she told Vold…the Dark Lord there had been no progress, he cast the Cruciatus on her. It was then that…”

“What is it, Harry?” Strong fingers rested lightly on his chin, nudging it up until their eyes met, even in golden form they seemed to see through to Harry’s soul.

Knowing the information could be extremely important, Harry pulled the memory forward. “Use Legilimency. You might need to need details, since it was about you.”

“ _Legilimens_.” 

There was the feeling of pressure against his mind, but it was nothing compared to the invasive thrust Harry remembered from his lessons in the past, more like a whisper of a presence. Then the images began to flow before his eyes. The withdrawal was painless, and he became aware that the warmth surrounding him was beginning to pull away. Reaching out an arm, he wrapped it around the slender waist and held on, not wanting to admit to what he knew was coming next. The arms that had comforted him were back, holding him close again.

“He is going to summon you, isn’t he?”

“Yes, and I will need a plausible explanation as to why I was there.”

Harry leaned back against the encircling arms, and frowned, wondering what he would say if he were caught.

“You were testing out the new appearance to make sure you could not be identified!” 

The corners of the older man’s lips twitched upward, and he drew Harry close for a moment, before releasing him. Sliding off the cot, he reached down and stroked a thumb along Harry’s cheekbone, his eyes warm.

“Perfect,” he whispered in the silky voice that did things to Harry’s nether regions. “Come, we must return to the house.”

It took them only half an hour to package the harvested basilisk for transport and to return the inner chamber to its original condition. The pair decided to use the passage that exited directly to the dungeons, and sent a message to the Headmistress that they had to leave and would use the secure Floo in the chambers Severus Snape had occupied for so many years. They hastened to the Potions master’s old apartment after completing their preparations for departure. Harry assumed the Potions master would return to these rooms at the start of the term, looking around curiously at the sitting room, which was devoid of any type of personal touches. The stone walls were softened by a cream colored rug and mahogany leather wing-back chairs and a matching sofa. A large window sat in the wall to one side of the cold fireplace, showing a line of purple-gray along the horizon heralding the approaching dawn.

They Flooed to Dumbledore House, where they found the Headmaster snoring softly in the chair in his portrait. After quickly charming the potion ingredients, the older wizard silently summoned a small potion vial from his room, and with a flick of the wand that once had belonged to his mentor, changed his clothing to a black shirt and trousers. Watching in silence, Harry felt his heart speed up as he watched Severus Snape emerge once more from the guise of Devon Prince, the onyx eyes that seemed play such a roll in his nocturnal activities met his and sent a shiver of awareness down his spine. 

As the two stood staring at each other, Severus let out a hiss of pain and grabbed his left arm. Quickly lighting a fire, he exchanged Dumbledore’s wand for his own, then reached toward the pot of Floo powder. Acting on impulse, Harry stepped up to him and pressed himself against the taller man. Tilting his face up, Harry was thrilled when an arm wrapped around his waist and his lips were taken in a fierce kiss. Sliding his own arms around Severus’ neck, he kissed the older man desperately, their tongues plunging and caressing. Wrenching his mouth away, Harry buried his face in the hollow of a slender neck for a moment before disentangling himself and stepping back. Unreadable dark eyes watched him for a second before Severus grabbed a handful of powder and disappeared into the green flames.

Harry knew he would not be able to sleep, and settled into the ‘his’ chair in front of the softly burning fire. His body still hummed with desire, and he adjusted himself as he shifted into a more comfortable position. He knew that if he didn’t find something to occupy his mind, he would sit there brooding about his confusion and mixed feelings for the man who had just left, or worse, worry about the jeopardy Severus was stepping into. Absentmindedly, Harry picked up the book Ron had left on the small table between chairs the day they had left for Godric’s Hollow, **Soul Bound** , and began to flip through the pages. 

_“…a sure way to recognize your soul mate is the tingle of compatible magic whenever you touch…”_

Harry blinked, then reread the passage as the reality of the words hit him with the force of a Bludger. Carefully, he returned to the beginning of the book and began to read.

* * *


	16. Soul Mates

* * *

A stranger with mousey brown hair tumbled out of the fireplace several hours later, and Harry leapt to his feet with his wand in his hand. The bland, non-descript face twitched, and he could hear labored breathing. As he watched, fine tremors that denoted time under the Cruciatus shook the thin frame. Stepping closer, Harry laid a hand carefully against a bruised cheek and felt the tingles of magic that answered his unspoken question.

“Severus,” he breathed quietly, knowing he would not have the courage to call his soul mate by his given name had he been conscious. 

Silently summoning Dumbledore’s wand, Harry levitated the older wizard up the stairs and into his bedroom, stripping him of the soiled and bloody Death Eater robes before laying him down on the bed. Retrieving a basin of warm water and some healing potions from the bathroom, Harry set to work on the visible injuries. It seemed that Tom Riddle did not appreciate followers who took the initiative, as he was sure the Potions master had been beaten for showing the Dark Mark in Knockturn Alley. Gently cleaning the blood and dirt off the man’s face, Harry decided he did not like this particular persona, and much preferred Severus, or even Devon. As he pondered this, the apparently normal Polyjuice Potion wore off, and the man transformed back into the raven-haired Snape. 

With a sigh, Harry continued his ministrations, pondering the things he had learned from the slim volume he had spent the last several hours reading. He and Severus Snape were soul mates, if he read the signs correctly, and it was apparent from their conversation in Salazar Slytherin’s study two nights ago that the older man was well aware of this fact. Casting a healing charm on the angular face, Harry studied it intently, confused by the emotions swirling inside him. The man had kissed him, which seemed to indicate that Harry did not disgust him, but he declined to tell Harry about the connection between them when he asked about it. If Harry did not physically repulse him, there had to be some other reason that he did not want the Gryffindor. Unfortunately, Harry was able to come up with quite a list, from his parentage and Snape’s hatred of both James Potter and Sirius Black, to his connection to Voldemort, to the fact that he was an unappealing almost seventeen-year-old boy, in this man’s eyes. 

Muttering the spell to heal the lacerations, he ran the tip of the borrowed wand over each cut, just as the Potions master had done to Draco Malfoy that night in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. Perhaps he was a disappointment to Severus? Maybe he had his eye on Malfoy or someone else, or was even now still in love with Regulus Black. Regardless of his reasons, it was quite obvious to Harry that the older man had no desire to acknowledge this bond, and he knew that in reality, he could not afford to be distracted from his destiny. He grimaced as a wave of bitterness made his stomach churn. He was after all the Chosen One: didn’t he have a prophecy to fulfill? 

After treating the last of Severus’ wounds, Harry used Dumbledore’s wand to cast a cleansing charm on the rest of the unconscious man’s body, then tugged the sheet up over him, his fingers straying to lightly stroke the alabaster skin of his chest. He moved around, quietly putting things away before retrieving the book he’d been reading from sitting room. Stopping briefly in the bedroom he was using, Harry tucked the book into the drawer of his bedside table before changing quickly into a pair of shorts and a tee shirt. He washed up, then headed back into the room across the hall, carefully stretching out next to Severus in the large bed, staying on top of the blankets. It was close to mid-morning now, but he was tired after the disrupted night, if the git wanted to hex him for being there, let him. Reaching out a shaky hand, Harry let his fingers trace the arch of a cheekbone, before he slid quickly into sleep.

hpsshpsshpss

A groan woke him up just after noon, and Harry sat up rubbing his blurry eyes. Sliding over, he plucked his glasses off the bedside table and slid them onto his nose as he turned to the older man. Severus looked better than he had earlier, with most of the bruising faded to small purple patches. The onyx eyes were open, watching curiously as Harry stood and stretched his back. Sitting back down on the edge of the bed, he picked up a vial of an analgesic potion and held it up for the Potions master to see before reaching a hand under his head, bracing the man’s neck so he could drink it. Flicking back the sheet with his hand, Harry bent down to examine the lacerations he had treated on the man’s stomach.

“I’m going to roll you over now so I can check your back,” Harry explained as he moved to the other side of the bed.

“I am capable of movement, Harry.” The normally silky smooth voice had a rasping quality to it this morning. 

With a nod, Harry helped the older man roll over, then checked to make sure the welts and bruises on his back were healing. Easing Severus back over, he could see the Potions master appeared to be asleep again, and the teenager recovered him with the sheet. Slipping quietly out of the room, he padded barefoot down to the kitchen. Putting together a tray of tea, toast and porridge, he headed back upstairs to the Potions master’s room, firm in his determination not to acknowledge what was happening between them. There was, after all, only so much rejection one could stand.

Setting the tray on the bedside table, Harry cast a Stay Warm Charm on the food and went into the bathroom to shower. The hot water cascaded down his back as Harry lathered and rinsed. A wave of sadness ebbed through him as he tilted his head back to wet his hair. If someone had told him a month ago that Severus Snape was his soul mate, he’d have laughed in their face, or hexed them, or both. Yet, it had happened, his feelings had somehow reversed, and he wanted a man who despised being drawn to him, who didn’t want him. Irony seemed to color his life once again.

Sighing, he washed and rinsed his hair, shutting off the water to lean against the cool tile as he considered his situation. An orphan who yearned for a family, as his own hated him. A boy who only wanted to be normal, and who was anything but. A man who had discovered that he yearned for another man who detested him for many reasons. All he ever wanted was someone to love him for himself. Life, it seemed, continued to kick him in the teeth.

Drying off quickly, the Gryffindor tried to shake himself out of the melancholy that seemed to grip him. He walked back into the Potions master’s bedroom to find Severus awake and sipping his tea, the bowl of porridge eaten.

“Are you feeling better?” Harry asked quietly as he moved to draw the curtains back. He then opened the window to the warm summer breeze. 

The onyx eyes held his gaze as Severus nodded slowly. “Yes, I am much improved over what I remember from last night.”

Harry nodded and walked over to take the tray. When he turned to leave, the older wizard stopped him with a hand on his wrist. 

“Thank you, Harry, for…for healing me.”

Blinking at the unexpected gratitude, Harry smiled at the man. “You are welcome, sir.”

Making his way to the kitchen, Harry saw that Albus Dumbledore was back in his portrait. He’d been asleep when they first returned early that morning, and then absent when the Potions master had fallen out of the fireplace a few hours later. Banishing the tray into the sink, Harry walked over to greet the Headmaster. 

“Harry! How is Severus doing?” 

“Better I think, sir, he is sitting up with his tea now and was able to eat some porridge.”

Shrewd eyes examined his face, making Harry wonder if the portrait was capable of Legilimency. He certainly did not want Albus Dumbledore to know of his unrequited love, figuring that would be disastrous to his peace of mind. Settling himself into one of the chairs in front of the fireplace, Harry stared down at his bare feet, so pale against the dark carpet.

“You seem preoccupied, Harry. Is it something I might assist with?” The portrait leaned forward in his chair.

“I was talking to Sev…Devon the other night about the Horcruxes, and I told him what you said about Nagini.” The Headmaster nodded. “I also told him that I wasn’t as sure as you are about it, because I know Voldemort possessed her the night she attacked Mister Weasley in the corridor at the Department of Mysteries. I think that may mean that he has done that before, meaning that the snake is more a tool to him than a Horcrux, right?” 

Dumbledore nodded again, still watching him intently.

“So we were discussing whether or not my…my scar might a Horcrux, sir, and whether or not I will be injured or… or die when I kill Voldemort, because of the connection we share.”

“Indeed, Harry, and what was Severus’ response?”

“He said…” 

“I am here, Harry.” 

Severus Snape’s voice came from behind him, and the teenager turned to see him wrapped in dressing gown, limping down the stairs. Jumping up, Harry made his way over the foot of the stairs and offered his arm for the older man to steady himself on. It seemed that the Slytherin was reluctant to take it, but he finally grasped it for a moment, using Harry’s support to step down off the stairs and move to a chair. After making sure the other man was settled, Harry disappeared into the kitchen to make another pot of tea, missing the look of surprise Severus had thrown at his back. He knew what the Slytherin's answer was, and had no desire to hear it repeated.

“I agree that additional research is needed, Severus, but I do not believe Harry would have been the recipient of a piece of Tom Riddle’s soul, as that would have required foreknowledge and preparation. Even if he had prepared to make a Horcrux, he would never have suspected that the Killing Curse would rebound off of young Harry, thus fouling his plans.”

Harry set the tray of tea, toast, and fruit on the low table, folding himself down on to the carpet in front of the fireplace, just to the left of Severus’ bare foot. The slender, pale length captured his eye: the perfectly proportioned toes looked almost delicate. He had a strange desire to rub his thumb along the finely veined arch, while a little voice in the back of his head wondered how the perfect skin tasted.

“Harry?” Severus’ low-pitched voice was questioning.

His face heated as he looked up into the unreadable onyx eyes, which shifted toward the portrait. Harry turned toward the Headmaster, trying to remember what was being said when he walked in.

“Huh… does that mean there might be a Ravenclaw artifact in the rubble of my parents’ house at Godric’s Hollow, sir?” Harry asked as his brain caught up with the conversation.

The twinkling blue eyes regarded him over the top of the half-moon spectacles. “It does seem likely, my boy, given what Voldemort knew of the Prophecy. Your death would have held the significance that Tom Riddle seemed to require for the creation of his Horcruxes.”

“Then you still believe that my scar is a connection forged by the Dark magic Voldemort used when he cast the Killing Curse?” 

“Yes, Harry,” the Headmaster answered. “I do not have an answer, though, for the possible depth of the connection, but I understand Miss Granger is researching that for you.”

“Yes, sir, I was just hoping…” the teenager trailed off, ignoring the tightening in his chest. He would just have to wait for his answer. “Anyway, you think it’s important for us to find whatever artifact might remain, even if though it does not contain a piece of Voldemort’s soul?”

Dumbledore nodded. “Examining it will tell you exactly what spells were used to prepare it, which might be advantageous for us to know.” 

Looking up at the Potions master, the teenager took a piece of buttered toast from the tray. “I guess we will need to make another trip back to the house.”

“Indeed.”

hpsshpsshpss

The two wizards worked through the afternoon packaging the basilisk in the kitchen, the door to the garden open and a warm breeze filtering in. It was one of those rare days of sunshine, the perpetual mist of Dementor breeding having dominated the country’s weather for almost a year. One by one, personal courier owls swooped in to the walled garden. The pair moved out to the garden to continue their task, with Harry packing items and Severus firmly attaching the pre-paid orders to the birds’ legs. Harry handed out owl treats before sending them on their way again. The two men worked together with a minimum of conversation, just as they had in the Chamber, Harry seemingly lost in thought. The dark-haired man frowned, wondering at the cause of the young man’s reticence. Eventually it dawned on him that maybe the Gryffindor was uncomfortable with Severus Snape. Perhaps if he changed into Devon Prince it would eliminate the wave of sadness he had felt when the younger man had touched him earlier. 

Standing up, an unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach, Severus moved toward the door into the house, inwardly cursing the ankle he had twisted at some point during his ‘session’ with the Dark Lord that morning. Harry looked up curiously from the package he was tying with twine, watching as Severus limped toward the door.

“Are you in pain? I’ll go get you the potion.”

Severus stopped as he passed the small table where the younger man was working. “I was going to get the Polyjuice Potion.”

A frown creased the younger man’s forehead. “I…I don’t think you should take it yet. We aren’t going anywhere, and, well, you aren’t fully healed yet.”

Blinking, the Potions master took in the hopeful expression on Harry’s face and nodded slowly, trying to ignore the sudden flutter in his stomach. Turning back, he automatically took the box that was extended to him, their fingers brushing in the exchange. Accompanying the expected tingling feeling was an unexpected wave of relief. As he moved back to his chair, the older wizard reflected on what he knew of soul mates, trying to remember if a bond could develop between two people just from being in each other’s company. If he was ‘feeling’ Harry’s emotions whenever they touched, was it a reciprocal bond? His eyes lingered on the face of the young man who was intent on carefully wrapping a container of basilisk spleen in paper, and he marveled at how dear those features had become to him over the past two weeks. As Severus had learned more and more of the teenager’s life and true personality, Harry had gone from being an obligation he had sworn to protect to a flesh and bone person. 

A _pop_ startled both men and Harry’s wand was in his hand before he had time to consciously think of it. Rather than a threat materializing, a wildly dressed house-elf appeared before them. The mismatched jumper and shorts clashed wildly, as did many of the small hats balanced precariously on his head. Bouncing up and down, the creature flung himself around Harry’s knees on a hug before pulling back.

“Harry Potter sir! Dobby is bringing a message!”

“What is it, Dobby?” 

“Your Wheezy is saying you must be meeting them at Grimmauld Place tomorrow after breakfast, and be bringing this book.”

The diminutive creature pressed a scrap of parchment into Harry’s hand, and turned. Harry grabbed his shoulder, turning him back towards him.

“Dobby, has Mundungus come up with a name yet?” he asked hopefully.

The small head shook. “No, Harry Potter, and Dobby is thinking there is no remembering by that one! He is being much too drunk most of the time.”

“Fletcher is drunk now?” Severus asked sharply.

“No, Pro…Professor Snape! He was being drunk when he sold the locket, and I is not believing he remembers.” The large green eyes were wide as they looked over at the intimidating man.

Patting the house-elf reassuringly on the shoulder, Harry moved to the desk and scribbled a note back to Hermione and Ron. Folding it, he handed it to Dobby.

“Tell them we will see them tomorrow about lunchtime, Dobby,” the teenager said as he hugged Dobby again. When he stepped back, the house-elf disappeared with a _pop_.

 

Harry handed the slip of parchment to the Potions master, having recognized that it was a book on Dark curses from the Restricted Section. He knew they would need to retrieve the book from the Hogwarts library tomorrow before going to Grimmauld Place.

“I will ask Albus to pass the message on to Minerva that we will be Flooing over first thing in the morning,” the older wizard said as he moved slowly toward the door.

Harry smiled at him. “I will be able to get my… er, your Advanced Potions text out of the Room of Requirement as well.”

Dark eyes scrutinized his face before the older man nodded sharply and continued on into the house. Harry continued to wrap the vials that remained, carefully labeling each one as Severus had taught him. He had forgotten the calming effect of mindless manual labor, but it had always been a way to escape the oppression he felt when at the Dursleys’ in the past. Finishing the last package, the teenager sat down in the chair the Potions master had conjured and closed his eyes, lifting his face to the warm afternoon sunshine. Weariness seeped into his bones, his interrupted sleep catching up with him, and Harry knew he could easily fall asleep. Allowing himself to sink into his mind, Harry cleared his mind and checked the strength of the locks on his mental trunk.

Gentle fingers brushed along the arch of a cheekbone, and Harry slowly opened his eyes to find Severus standing beside him, looking toward the far garden wall. Studying the distinctive profile for a moment, the teenager wondered if the flashes of the Slytherin’s childhood he had seen during their ill-fated Occlumency lessons had left as deep a mark on the older man’s self-esteem as Harry’s had on him. Perhaps he was misinterpreting some of the other man’s words and actions; maybe Severus was as afraid of rejection as he was.

“Did Professor McGonagall agree with us coming in the morning?” 

The older wizard turned back to face him, his face a neutral mask. “Yes, in fact, she is going to take the opportunity to give her new Potions master a tour of the school. Albus suggested you use that infernal invisibility cloak to retrieve the books from the library. Madam Pince is currently on holiday and there should be no one around. Minerva has indicated that Mister Filch has been acting a bit strangely since he returned from his holiday, and requests that you avoid him if possible.”

Harry frowned, his first thoughts jumping to Rosmerta and what Malfoy had forced her to do under the Imperius Curse over the past year. “I’ll be careful, but isn’t there a way to tell whether someone is under the Imperius?”

“There is a counter-charm that can lift it,” Severus answered slowly, “but there is almost no way of telling whether someone is under the influence of Polyjuice Potion.”

“The Marauders’ Map could help us there,” he answered absently.

“The what?”

Harry’s heart stopped for a second. Then he gave a mental shrug, remembering that Severus was an ally now. “Um, do you remember that old piece of parchment you took from me in my third year? The one that insulted you? Remus Lupin said it was a Zonko’s product?”

The obsidian eyes speared him like a bug on a pin. “Yes.”

“Well, actually, it’s a map, sir, that my…father and his friends made.” Harry stood up. “Let me go get it and I will explain.”

It took most of the evening to explain the various ways Harry had used the map since it had come into his possession. He told about seeing Peter Pettigrew’s name while he was in his Animagus form, how Crabbe and Goyle still appeared when they were Polyjuiced, and the fact that Draco Malfoy had disappeared while in the Room of Requirement. Severus seemed impressed in spite of himself, the teenager thought; he examined the parchment closely, passing his wand over it to determine the spells and charms used in its creation. Remarkably, the older wizard asked Harry to send Remus an owl, asking if the former Defense professor would be willing to help them expand the map to cover areas outside the castle and possibly add the Chamber of Secrets.

Harry did as he asked, dashing off a short note to Lupin and sending Hedwig off with it before bidding Severus and the portrait of the Headmaster good night. Washing up, he threw on a pair of sleeping shorts and pulled the book on soul mates from the drawer of his bedside table. The teenager read until his head drooped and his eyes refused to stay open. Sliding the book under his pillow, he blew out the candle and lay down, allowing sleep to claim him.

hpsshpsshpss

It was pitch black when Harry jerked awake, his heart racing with fear. Looking around frantically, he tried to figure out what had startled him, but the house was still, silently mocking his terror. Harry shook his head, but the uneasy feeling just grew stronger. Sliding out of bed, he padded to the doorway and across the hall, his feet moving of their own accord to Snape’s door. When he opened the door and entered the room, the young wizard could feel the brush of magic. From the muffled screams of pain that immediately assaulted his ears, he knew that he must have breached a silencing charm.

Severus Snape writhed on the bed dressed in only in sleeping pants, the bedding hanging off to one side as the man lay face down, his back arched and his face pressed deeply into the mattress. Harry moved to sit on the side of the bed, stretching toward the far side to grasp one bare arm. A wave of pain and distress jolted through him, but the older man instantly quieted. Pulling back, Harry was startled when Severus started to scream again, and he quickly scooted across the bed to put his hand on the chilled flesh. The distress flitted through him again, but settled quickly. Harry was amazed when the Potions master whimpered and rolled over, trapping the teen’s arm underneath him. 

Remembering the chapter he had read that evening on the emotional binding of soul mates, Harry slid down beside the older man and summoned the bedding silently. In a move the young Gryffindor knew would embarrass his companion come morning, Severus snuggled back against him. Harry carefully slid his other arm around the now peacefully sleeping wizard. A piece of his soul felt like it had finally found its way home.

* * *


	17. Raw Magic

* * *

Harry woke slowly, the warmth at his back and reassuring weight at his waist making him feel safe. Reality slowly returned, and even though he was sure it would not be healthy for him to have the formidable Potions master wake to find a Gryffindor nestled in his arms, especially in said man’s own bed, Harry found he was too comfortable to care. A feeling of contentment cocooned him, lulling him into a restful state halfway between sleep and wakefulness. The arm moved a fraction, a large hand splaying across his belly, and in an instant, the comforting touch turned arousing. 

Knowing that this was his signal to move, Harry decided that if he sprung up as if in a panic, it might be interpreted as embarrassment at being caught. Instead, he stretched his body, arching slightly back against the decidedly male form embracing him, before he carefully slid out from under the older man’s arm. Without looking back, his made his way to the door, careful to keep his body and its reaction to the close proximity of other man, turned away. Looking over his shoulder into sleepy obsidian eyes, he smiled.

“I’ll get the tea on.”

Slipping across the hallway, Harry felt his cheeks burn at his brazenness, but he had no other way to let the older wizard know that he would be amenable to pursuing this ‘thing’ between them. At worst, Severus could be angry and revert to true greasy git behavior, he reasoned as he slipped on a pair of shorts and grabbed a t-shirt out of his drawer. Or he could figure out that it would be all right if he wanted to see where things would lead. The next move was in the Slytherin’s hands, Harry decided as he heard the shower start behind him.

Making his way down to the kitchen, Harry began to put together breakfast, humming to himself as he poured the water into the teapot. Dobby must have brought them fresh scones at some point, and Harry set them on the table, along with a plate of toast and porridge. He looked out the glass door toward the garden; the day was overcast and gray, and the mist was back. Just the sight of it chilled the teenager. The thought of dealing with more Dementors sent a shiver down his spine.

There was a wary look on Severus Snape’s face as he paused in the doorway, taking in the prepared table, with Harry already seated at his place, tucking into his bowl of porridge. Glancing up in what he hoped was a casual manner, the teenager flashed a grin at the older man as he sat down. 

“Good morning.”

The dark-haired wizard tilted his head in acknowledgement as he poured a cup of tea and slid a scone onto his plate. The two ate in silence for several minutes before Harry stood to take his now empty bowl to the sink. A hand on his arm stopped him as he walked passed the Potions master on his way upstairs.

“How did you know?” 

Harry looked down at the quiet question, ignoring the subtle feelings of unease that filtered through him as he met the dark eyes. “What?”

“I had anticipated having nightmares last night, and erected silencing charms so you would not be disturbed. How did you know I was in…distress?”

“I’m not really sure, actually, I just woke up knowing you needed me,” Harry told him honestly.

The dark eyes trailed over his face for a moment before Severus nodded, dropping his hand. With a smile, Harry continued on his way, heading upstairs to shower and change. In less than half an hour, the Gryffindor was clad in blue jeans and a Weasley jumper, his invisibility cloak draped over his arm. He found the Potions master in the sitting room, conversing quietly with the portrait of Albus Dumbledore. Harry stopped in the doorway, taking in the picture of Severus Snape in sapphire blue robes over a crisp white shirt and black trousers, simply admiring the view.

“Ah, Harry,” the portrait greeted him. Severus pulled a vial out of the pocket of his robe and drank it.

“Hello, Professor,” Harry smiled as he looked up at the portrait, not really caring to watch Severus transform into Devon. “How are things in Headmistress McGonagall’s office?”

“Peaceful at the moment, dear boy,” the Headmaster twinkled at him. “I do know that Minerva is waiting for the pair of you.”

With a nod, Harry turned back to his transformed companion, grabbing a handful of Floo powder and tossing it into the fire. He stumbled out on to the floor of the large round office, and was still regaining his balance when Devon stepped through with his usual grace. Both men brushed soot off the front of their clothing before moving toward Minerva McGonagall, who rose from her desk at their arrival.

“Harry, Devon, good morning.”

“Good morning, Professor,” Harry replied with a smile for his former Head of House. “Is it all right if I head up to the Room of Requirement before I go to the library?”

“Of course, Harry, and when you come back this way, you might want to look in at your new rooms. You know where the Prefects’ bathroom is already, don’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“The rooms are on the fifth floor, the first door on the right just beyond the tapestry of the unicorns, prior to the statue of Boris the Bewildered. The door should open for you once, and then you must set a password for yourself and Hermione.” 

Harry nodded, throwing a quick look at Devon. “I will meet you back here in an hour,” the older man told him.

With another nod, he donned the invisibility cloak and slipped out the oak door. The hallways were eerily quiet, reminding Harry of some of his nocturnal escapades, yet the castle walls seemed oddly welcoming to him. Hogwarts had been the first place he had ever felt truly at home, and there was always a feeling of warmth that arose when he was inside her walls. He met no one as he made his way to the Room of Requirement. His mind flashed back to the last time he’d been there, the cold panic he had felt as Snape waited for him. So much had happened in the ensuing months: both Dumbledore and Malfoy were dead, Voldemort was growing steadily stronger, and the reign of terror was slowly bringing the wizarding community to its knees. 

The wall opposite the dancing troll tapestry was unmarked stone when Harry began his three passes, concentrating on the cathedral size room of broken and discarded things, wanting only to retrieve his book. It was a relief when after the third pass, the door appeared in the wall. Taking a deep breath, Harry stepped quickly inside, closing the door softly behind him before pushing the cloak away from his face. Sunshine streamed through the high windows, illuminating the teetering piles of broken and damaged furniture, interspersed with piles of objects that centuries of Hogwarts occupants had sought to hide. 

Concentrating on that night several months ago, Harry drew the memory from his mental trunk, re-examining the landmarks he had been careful to note. Walking forward into the aisle he believed was correct, the young man was relieved when he spotted the enormous stuffed troll; he turned right, then left at the broken Vanishing Cabinet. He made his way deeper into the room until he found the acid-damaged cupboard, marked by the chipped bust of an ugly warlock wearing a dusty wig and tarnished tiara. When he opened the first door, Harry’s heart nearly stopped: there was no old cage inside! He frantically grabbed the handle of the next door. This refused to open. The third door sprang open at his touch, the five-legged skeleton still inside its cage. Reaching gingerly around behind it, he drew out the Half-Blood Prince’s book, and clasped it to his chest. The Advanced Potion-Making text that Severus’ mother had originally owned was safe at last d, he thought with a feeling of relief.

Retracing his steps along the haphazardly piled stacks, he came back to the Vanishing Cabinet. Harry’s grief and anger surged through him as he stopped and stared at the cabinet Draco Malfoy had meticulously repaired and used to get Death Eaters into the castle that June night. He felt once more the anguish and helplessness of watching frozen as the Headmaster died, the anguish of one man’s devotion to the mentor and friend whose life he was forced to take in an act of mercy. This made it no less painful for them both. The feelings of love and loss seemed to swirl around Harry, threatening to overwhelm him, and he focused his ire on the cabinet before him. Even the castle seemed to mourn anew; he heard a wail, and the cabinet exploded, showering him with debris.

Startled, Harry took several steps back, brushing chunks of wood from his cloak. It seemed the castle agreed with him, and had destroyed the offending object. With a grim smile, the teenager made his way to the door. Tugging the cloak back over his head, the textbook firmly clutched in his hand, he moved out into the hallway. Harry watched as the door melted back into the stone wall, then turned to head toward the library.

The library was dark and empty, a single torch flaring to life nearby as he slid the cloak off. The Restricted Section was as daunting as it had been the Christmas of his first year, with shaking shelves and screaming books. Several of the books on the shelf at eye level appeared to actually be breathing, and he avoided them as he searched the titles for the book Hermione wanted on Dark curses. As he quickly scanned the lines of books, certain titles leapt at him, trying to draw him like the call of a siren, but Harry focused on his task. Two shelves from the bottom, he finally found the right book, and tugged it gingerly from the row. The books on either side shuffled and filled in the space with a snap. Backing away from the shelf and out of the Restricted Section warily, the Gryffindor tucked the book under his arm with the potions textbook and pulled the invisibility cloak back on.

The door to the rooms shared by the Head Boy and Head Girl was easy to locate, and opened into a common room that was almost as large as the one in the Gryffindor Tower. Long and narrow, a row of windows lighting the interior made the room welcoming. The end closest to the door had several worn armchairs and a couch grouped around a large fireplace, with several low tables scattered in between. The far end held a wooden kitchen table and chair, next to a small kitchen area. Two desks sat side by side in an alcove between the two areas, near several doors. Two led to identical bedrooms separated by private adjoining bathrooms, and the third was a closet and storage room. Glancing around, Harry was relieved to see that, in keeping with the other dorms in the castle, there were no paintings or portraits anywhere in the rooms.

Harry was pleased with the suite of rooms he and Hermione, and Ron he imagined, would share during the next year. They would provide the trio the privacy needed to complete the task Albus Dumbledore had given him, and the Floo connection to the Potions master’s chambers would make communication that much easier. Stepping out into the hallway, Harry settled the cloak around himself once more. Setting the password to ‘Horcrux’, the teenager made his way down the staircase toward the entrance to the Headmistress’ Tower on the second floor. It had been well over the allotted hour since he left, and he picked up his pace, remembering the aforementioned Potions master’s intolerance of tardiness.

The door beside the gargoyle stood open, and Harry took the moving stairs two at a time. He arrived in the office slightly out of breath, only to find it empty. Setting the books down on the small table between the chairs in front of the massive desk, he let the cloak fall to the floor and bent over, hands on his thighs, as he caught his breath.

“They are on their way, Harry,” the amused voice of Albus Dumbledore told him from his perch on the wall.

The younger wizard nodded his head, but did not look up.

“Harry?”

Devon Prince’s rich voice sounded concerned, causing Harry to straighten automatically in reaction. Any response he might have uttered died on his lips as the older wizard was suddenly standing in front of him, a hand cupping his chin, and tilting his face for a closer inspection.

“What is this?”

A thumb swept along his cheek, and Harry hissed and flinched at the sting of pain that seared the area, trying to pull away.

“Hold still, Potter!”

The greasy git emerged from the man standing so very close to him, and Harry allowed the older wizard to examine several other spots on his face.

“How did you manage to acquire wood splinters in your face in the hour you have been on your own?” The voice had gentled, and the older man was dabbing at his cheek with a cloth.

“The, uh, the Vanishing Cabinet that Malfoy used last month sort of exploded in front of me when I was in the Room of Requirement.”

Minerva McGonagall had moved to peer over Devon’s arm, handing him a small vial from her pocket that Harry recognized as a healing salve. With gentle fingers, the Potions master treated several scratches that Harry had not known he had.

“Thank you, Devon, I was pretty close to it when the castle made it blow up.”

The Headmistress snorted. “The castle would not do that unless someone with power over it directed it to help. Do you remember what happened just before it exploded?”

Harry thought for a moment. “I was, uh, upset and angry, I guess, and I could feel the magic swirling around me…”

“Harry,” Dumbledore interjected, “was it like the incident with your Aunt Marge?”

Harry looked up sharply, remembering that summer night, and how angry he was, how his magic had felt. 

“Yes! It was exactly like that!” the teenager exclaimed. 

“Raw magic?” McGonagall suggested, sharing a look with the Potions master.

“It seems reasonable, given some of the displays I have seen,” Devon agreed, looking up at the portrait. “Albus?”

“Most remarkable indeed, and of an unparalleled strength,” the portrait answered. “Did Harry tell you when faced with no other way to get me back to Hogwarts that night in June, he Apparated us both back from the coast?”

Harry could feel his face heat as the conversation eddied around him. If he thought about it, he knew there had been other instances from his early childhood that were just like what had happened with Aunt Marge. In fact, now that he thought about it, the time he was being chased by Dudley and his gang, ending up on the roof, was probably the first time he had ever Apparated! Was this ‘raw magic’ the power the Prophecy hinted at? Was it something he could learn how to control? Looking up, Harry could see he was the focus of three pairs of eyes.

“Professor Dumbledore?” Harry’s brow was creased with concentration. “Is this magic something I can learn to control?”

“Control may be the wrong term to use, Harry, but you can certainly learn to focus it better.”

The frown deepened. “How can I focus it if I can’t control it, sir?”

“This magic is generated by strong emotions,” the Headmaster said, “and while you cannot control when it appears, you can learn to direct it when it becomes available.”

A sudden memory hit him. “You mean, like in the graveyard after the third task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, when I was able to hold out against Voldemort?”

Dumbledore nodded his head. “Yes, I think that night is a perfect example of how you focused that raw magic when you were encouraged by Tom Riddle’s victims.”

“Perhaps,” Devon spoke from his position beside the teenager, “we can use your Occlumency skills to help focus this magic when you feel it.”

“That might be a possible solution, especially if you can learn to utilize your emotions to produce the magic,” the portrait said thoughtfully. “If you are able to ground your magic enough, you might be to use it more effectively.”

“Gentlemen,” Professor McGonagall interrupted, “I hate to put an end to your discussion, but I Rufus Scrimgeour will be arriving momentarily for a meeting on the re-opening of Hogwarts, and I don’t believe you want to see him at this point.”

Hastily agreeing, the two visitors Flooed back to the Dumbledore house, and dropped off the potions textbook, then continued on to Grimmauld Place. Ron Weasley sat at the kitchen table, a large book open in front of him. He looked up and smiled as the two men stepped from the fireplace, Harry stumbling usual. Hermione walked into the room at the same moment, immediately throwing her arms around Harry, concerned by the strangely pensive look on his face. He returned her hug with a smile, not seeing the look that the golden-haired man threw at them. She brushed a finger over one of the scratches that was still visible on his cheek.

“What happened to you?”

Harry grinned sheepishly. “Just a bit of wild magic that got away from me in the Room of Requirement, blew up that Vanishing Cabinet Malfoy used to get the Death Eaters into Hogwarts.”

“Hmmm,” Hermione muttered, her eyes raking over his face with concern before darting to the book in his hand, “is that the Dark curse book?”

Harry smiled as he handed her the book, glad for the distraction. They all sat at the table, and began to compare notes on the research they had been doing. Dobby served them sandwiches and soup for lunch, hovering about during the meal to make sure they were all eating, finally leaving them to their pudding. The conversation dwindled to Devon and Hermione taking about a list of potions that had been used over the ages to cure or heal curse scars, some of which had enjoyed moderate success against Dark curses. Harry felt his mind wander as the discussion continued. When he stopped wool-gathering and looked up twenty minutes later, there was a glazed look on Ron’s face. Sev…Devon and Hermione had continued to discuss techniques and brewing diversities, and Harry was completely lost.

“I have an idea,” the teenager announced as the complicated conversation made him feel lacking. “Why don’t Ron and I Floo to Godric’s Hollow and start searching through the rubble of the cottage to see what we can find?”

“You will not disturb the artifact if you are able to locate it,” the Potions master ordered, before tempering his demand, “please. We need to know what spells were cast on it before we can determine if it is safe to handle.”

Harry met the golden eyes, easily reading the concern there, and had the odd, inappropriate thought that the fathomless jet eyes he preferred would have hidden the emotion. With a hurried explanation to Ron and Hermione and reassurances to the older wizard, Harry tugged Ron to the Floo, grabbing a handful of powder.

“Godric’s Hollow!” Harry called as he stepped into the green flames.

Tumbling out at the other end, Harry was greeted instantly by Nerel, who was ecstatic to see his young master. Ron stumbled out of the fireplace a moment later, a cloak clutched in his hand. A glance out the sitting room window showed the teenagers that it was indeed misting there, as it had been in London. Looking down at his jumper with a shrug, Harry was surprised to find a soft black cloak pressed into his hand by Piat, who was bouncing from one foot to another in excitement.

“’Twas your grandfather’s cloak, Master Harry! It be sturdy and keeping you warm!”

“Thank you, Piat,” he said, taking it gratefully. “Ron and I are going to walk down to where the cottage was.”

Tinky appeared in front of them with a quiet _pop_ and handed Harry a small, covered wicker basket.

“In case you be getting hungry, Masters, Tinky is making you snacks,” the little house-elf.

It was almost a relief to leave the house and walk down the pathway leading towards the ruins of the house he had lived in as a baby. Although he understood that the house-elves were doing their best to make him happy, he felt a bit smothered by their attention. 

The grayness of the sky hung lower to the ground here, with the accompanying fog this close to the coastline making for a heavy mist. Ron’s cloak, a birthday gift from his parents last spring, was a sturdy wool cloth, spelled to be water repellant, while the old-fashioned velvet cloak of Henry Potter’s was damp long before the pair reached the site of the ruined cottage. The partial foundation walls and overgrown rubble looked sad in their isolation near the stream. A wave of grief, sharp and poignant, washed over Harry at the thought of how his mum and dad had died, and he was glad when Ron kicked a stone, turning to him. 

“What exactly are we looking for?”

“Snape believes that Voldemort had prepared something, maybe an artifact of Ravenclaw’s, to make a Horcrux from killing me. When the spell rebounded, vaporizing him, there would have been no way he could have taken the artifact with him, so it stands to reason that it is still here.”

Ron nodded. “The wards would not have let anyone else in except those people who were friends of your parents and had been here before: Dumbledore, Hagrid, Sirius, and that lot.”

“Yes,” Harry acknowledged as they came upon the first part of the foundation, “and no one was looking for an unfamiliar trinket in the rubble that night, as they were busy tending to me.”

Searching the ground with his eyes, Harry slowly walked the perimeter of the foundation, while Ron walked next to him just inside the broken wall. Side by side, they walked up and down where rooms once stood, sometimes stooping to turn over a rock or brush away accumulated leaves. Moving from where the front door had been, they systematically searched the rooms in a grid pattern that Ron had come up with, dividing the house into a chess board. On each pass they retraced a portion of their previous path, just in case one set of eyes had missed something.

“Ron?”

“Yeah?” They both continued to walk slowly.

“That book at Dumbledore’s house, the one you were reading to us about soul mates?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“Have you felt that…that tingle, you know, the little jolts running up from your fingertips of compatible magic when you touch Hermione?” 

With a heavy sigh, Ron paused and looked at him. “Yeah, only, she didn’t seem to know what it meant, being Muggleborn.”

“You know Hermione, make her read the book herself and she will believe it.”

A grin split Ron’s face. “I did, and she is coming around, it is just taking time!” He threw a serious look at Harry. “You’re okay with that, mate? I mean, Hermione and me?”

The corner of his mouth curved upward, and Harry nodded. “Of course I am! You two have been arguing and dancing around each other long enough, I think!”

Ron reached out a hand, lightly grasping Harry’s arm as he made to walk on. “But?”

Harry sighed, and met the questioning blue eyes. “But what if I told you I don’t feel those tingles when I touch Ginny?”

The taller teenager frowned. “I guess I’d be a bit disappointed, as I had rather gotten used to the idea of you two dating. But if you aren’t soul mates, then it is better you found out now.”

They continued to search the ruins for several minutes before the redhead spoke again, casting him a sideways look.

“You seem to know exactly what it feels like, Harry; I mean about the compatible magic tingling when you touch your soul mate. Does this mean you’ve felt it with someone?”

“I… I think so, Ron, but… ” he hesitated, stopping and turning to face his best friend. “It’s, uh, only happened a couple times, so I don’t want to say too much, you know, just in case I’m wrong.”

The taller teen dug at something with the toe of his trainer before looking back towards Harry.

“You won’t tell me, your best mate, who she is?”

Taking a deep breath, images of his uncle spewing vile things leaping into his mind, Harry squared his shoulders. “I will tell you that it isn’t a girl,” he said, watching his friend’s reaction closely.

Ron’s smile wavered for a second, before brightening considerably. “Brilliant, mate, that will make Ginny feel better! Hate to have her think you dumped her for another girl, she’ll understand when you tell her it’s a bloke!”

Harry’s mouth dropped open in amazement. He had expected a violent eruption of some kind from Ron, knowing that same sex couples were just tolerated in the Muggle world, and he had never heard about any in the magical world. The redhead laughed at the look on his face, snickering as he watched Harry’s cheeks heat.

“You thought I’d be mad or something?”

“Yeah,” Harry stammered. “My uncle always said really harsh things about…about gay people.”

“Those Muggles are just plain foul!” Ron sneered; his opinion of the Dursleys had never been high. “It doesn’t matter to most witches and wizards what sex their mate is, it is the love that is important. Anyone can bond or get married, and we have our magic, so anyone can get pregnant with help, and any couple can have a family. You will have to talk to Charlie next time he visits; he has dated both sexes, you know, and he lives with his boyfriend in Romania.”

A silly grin exploded across Harry’s face as he watched Ron move on to the next section of debris. The fact that his best friend was okay with what he was coming to accept as his sexual preference was a relief. The brunet had really expected the taller youth to take it badly, and was pleasantly surprised by his acceptance. 

The youngest Weasley son threw him a grin over his shoulder.

“Oh, come on Harry! You act like you expected me to have a problem with the fact that you like guys! For Merlin’s sake, it’s not like you’re telling me that Snape’s your soul mate or something!”

* * *


	18. Lessons

Harry was noticeably quiet as he and Ron Flooed back to Grimmauld Place. He knew that the others would put his mood down to having spent the afternoon in the ruin of his parent’s home, allowing the constant mist to drench him as they searched through the rubble for an unknown artifact. Disappointment was part of what had dampened his good spirits, which had been especially high after Ron had so nonchalantly accepted his sexuality; the fear that Ron and the other people closest to him would not accept his soul mate greatly upset him. His little family of house-elves was saddened they were not staying, but Harry promised to come back soon, deciding on a whim to tell Nerel that he would spend his birthday in Godric’s Hollow. Somehow, Harry had a feeling he was going to be in trouble with Dobby over the whole prospect.

Hermione and the Potions master had disappeared when they stepped out of the fireplace in the dark kitchen. The book Harry had retrieved from Hogwarts was still sitting in the middle of the table, but the parchment notes Snape had brought from the Chamber of Secrets were gone. Ron stepped out behind him as Harry picked up the book and began to thumb through it as he sat down. 

“Where do you think they went?” Ron asked a baffled look on his face.

Harry shrugged his shoulders. “Nearest potions lab, I guess, especially after the discussion they were having when we left.”

The redhead rolled his eyes with a grin. “I’m starving, isn’t it time for dinner?”

Harry’s stomach chose that moment to growl, and both teenagers laughed as Harry called for Dobby. The excitable house-elf appeared instantly, throwing his arms around Harry’s knees in his usual greeting. Patting the diminutive creature’s shoulder, he had to smile at Dobby’s enthusiasm, being one who was always glad to see him.

“Do you know where Devon and Hermione went, Dobby?”

“They be in the library, Harry Potter!”

Ron nodded and headed out the door. Before following him, Harry spoke to the house-elf again.

“Dobby, I would like you to go tomorrow and help Nerel make arrangement for us to spend my birthday at Godric’s Hollow, all right?” 

“Dobby would be honored to be helping, Harry Potter! Is yous ready for dinner now, Harry Potter?”

The dark-haired teenager smiled. “Yes, please, Dobby, I know I am hungry, and the others probably are, too. Oh, and Dobby, have you gotten anything at all out of Mundungus?” 

The hats tilted drunkenly as the house-elf shook his head, his eyes downcast in what Harry interpreted as embarrassment. “No, Harry Potter, he is not remembering who he was selling it to, only that he was selling everything he could from your house.”

“Did Dev…Professor Prince speak to him this afternoon, Dobby?”

“Dobby is not knowing, Harry Potter.” The green head bowed.

“Did I speak to whom?” the man in question asked as he led Ron and Hermione back into the kitchen.

Harry looked up, his stomach doing a funny jump as he met the inquiring golden eyes.

“I was asking if you had spoken to Mundungus Fletcher today,” Harry repeated his question.

“I have not,” the older wizard said, his eyes running over the teenager’s damp appearance. “I believe it to be a futile exercise; we would benefit more from Obliviating him and then following his movements.”

Harry knew Sev- Devon was right, especially as the ginger-haired man seemed to have pickled his brain with drink, and reluctantly nodded his agreement. Albus Dumbledore may have trusted the sneak thief, but Harry, who remembered Dung’s abandonment two years before, leaving him to fend off a Dementor attack, did not. If Mundungus truly did not remember, and they wiped his memory of the past ten days, there was a possibility that he would go back to the same sources for money. A sudden thought occurred to him.

“We could have Dobby keep track of him, and make him think he still had access to the house, so he could nick more of Sirius’ stuff.”

“Yes, I believe that would be suitable,” the Potions master agreed, a half smile on his face. “I will go take care of that now.”

The older man swept back out the door and disappeared up the stairs as Harry watched. Hermione put her hand on his arm, her eyes running over his damp hair and clothing. With a sigh, she flicked her wand over him, and he was instantly dry and warm.

“Thanks,” he told her with a grin, “I can’t wait until my birthday, when I can do magic legally.”

The warm brown eyes smiled at him, lingering on his face, and Harry squirmed under the scrutiny, knowing those eyes often read more than he wanted them to.

“Are you okay, Harry?” she asked softly, her voice colored with concern. “You seem a bit, well, down.”

Ron had taken a spot at the far end of the table, and was thumbing through the book on Dark curses, seemingly unaware of their conversation. Hermione threw a look over her shoulder before turning back to Harry, crossing her arms over her chest as she waited expectantly.

“Ron and I were talking about soul mates this afternoon while we were searching the cottage.” The witch blushed, and Harry hid a grin as her eyes darted toward the redhead. “I told Ron that I had discovered that Ginny wasn’t my soul mate.”

Hermione studied his face curiously. “You sound very positive, Harry.”

The raven-haired teen nodded. “I am positive, Hermione, as I have, uh, well, I found out that, uh…well that I think I might be, uh…”

“That you are gay?” she supplied helpfully, her eyes sparkling.

Startled, Harry looked at his best friend with wide eyes. The bushy-haired young woman just grinned at him.

“How’d you know?”

“Ginny and I were talking when I stayed at the Burrow before the wedding. Even though she knew you thought you were attracted to her, comfortable and loving, Ginny said there was no passion between you,” she explained, holding up a hand when Harry automatically started to protest. “She was worried about all the pressure you are under, with Voldemort and what happened to Dumbledore. I didn’t share my suspicions with her.”

“But how… why would you think…” he stammered.

The witch rolled her eyes and grinned. “Honestly, Harry, you are almost seventeen years old, had only kissed one other girl before Ginny, and you described that as ‘wet’ in an uncomplimentary way. Then there was last summer when you seemed immune to Fleur’s charms, while Ron was tripping over his tongue every time she came into the room!”

“Oy!” the redhead protested from the table, but they both ignored him.

“You’re, uh, all right with it?” Harry asked anxiously.

Throwing her arms around him, Hermione gave him a big hug, kissing him on the cheek just as Devon Prince re-entered the room. Harry could feel his cheeks heat as the golden eyes swept over him, but instead of pulling away, he leaned into the comfort his best friend offered for a moment. Dobby popped in after Severus to announce dinner. With a snap of his fingers, steaming platters of meat and potatoes appeared, much to Ron’s delight, and everyone quickly joined him at the table. It turned out everyone was hungry, and the conversation stilled while they ate.

Mundungus Fletcher, Devon told them over pudding, had been released before supper. The older wizard had used Legilimency to ascertain that the bandy-legged thief truly did not know where the golden Slytherin locket had gone. He had cast a strong memory charm on Fletcher before escorting him down to the front door of the house, turning him out into the London night with the suggestion that he would find the house empty and open if he returned the next evening. Harry gave Dobby instructions to follow the man when he returned the next night, and asked him to leave out a couple of the goblin-wrought silver goblets as the bait to trap the bandit. 

Devon and Harry Flooed back to the Dumbledore House after the four had exhausted a number of different ideas, both for finding the missing Horcrux and for trying to block Voldemort. Hermione and Ron would join them there the next day, after a morning trip to Diagon Alley to pick up supplies and some additional potions ingredients. The Potions master had a training session planned for Harry during that time, Occlumency first, and then a lesson in magical control. They would all to Floo directly to the older man’s dungeon rooms in the afternoon to begin working on a topical potion that might help with the pain Harry suffered in his scar.

As he lay in bed later that night, Harry stared out the open window in his room, just able to make out two or three stars in the clearing sky. Both Ron and Hermione’s responses to his news had been supportive, for the most part, warming him. After having struggled for almost two weeks with the realization the he was attracted to a man, he supposed he had expected them to react with disgust and anger, like the Dursleys would have. It was a good feeling to know his friends could accept him and support him as he was, and Harry hoped at some point they would be as accepting of his mate.

hpsshpsshpss

Harry slept well that night for a change, his dreams filled with hazy images of dark, smoldering eyes and slender, stroking fingers. He awoke to sticky shorts and quickly retreated to the bathroom to clean up, dressing comfortably in a t-shirt and jeans. It was impossible for him to keep a blush from staining his cheeks when he entered the kitchen in the morning to find the star of his dreams sipping his tea, scanning notes on a piece of parchment. It was another misty, gray day, and breakfast was a simple meal of porridge and toast, which Harry tucked into hungrily.

Fawkes sat perched on the back of the Slytherin’s chair and appeared to be reading over his shoulder, much to the older man’s annoyance. Smothering a grin at the sight, Harry was thrilled when the phoenix flew over to settle beside him, nipping at his ear and trilling softly. He stroked a finger over Fawkes’ head and down the warm feathers to his tail, knowing the creature had to be lonely now that his human was gone. Sharing his toast and strawberries with the scarlet and gold bird, Harry studied his silent companion surreptitiously. He had chosen to don his black teaching robes this morning, and his new coloring looked particularly washed out. The older man looked tired this morning, as if his sleep had been interrupted, and the teenager hid a smile, wondering if Severus had dreams like his. 

Retreating to the sitting room when he was finished, Harry threw open the drapes and checked to make sure Fawkes’ water bowl was full while he waited for the older wizard. Footsteps coming from the kitchen told him that the lesson was about to begin, and he squeezed his eyes shut, fervently wishing that these lessons would turn out better than the last ones. Swallowing hard, he squared his shoulders and turned to face the man, as he stood tall under the portrait of Albus Dumbledore, who appeared to be dozing in his chair. Golden eyes tracked his every movement.

“I realize our Occlumency lessons of your fifth year were less than successful, but your current level of trepidation is hardly warranted.”

There was a slight sneer to the silky voice, and Harry scowled back. An arched eyebrow and a more pronounced sneer almost made Harry laugh despite his edginess. After learning over the past couple of weeks how to read the Slytherin’s expressions, especially in this persona, he decided Devon was trying in his own way to make him feel at ease. A nervous grin crooked his lips.

“Actually, sir, they were horrific. My scar ached something terrible after each session we had, and it always seemed to leave me even more vulnerable to Volde... ” Devon flinched. “… mort.

The other man considered him, eyes sweeping over the untidy hair, scarred forehead, and pale face. “You were fighting me then, Harry, not simply blocking me from your mind, and I believe that caused your pain. It would be best if you could relax physically and concentrate on keeping me out of your mind, keeping your trunk of memories secure.”

Nodding, Harry took a deep breath, checked that his mental trunk was locked, and looked up to signal his readiness. 

“Legilimens!” 

The lock on his trunk rattled dangerously, but without the need to push the presence out of his mind, Harry was able to stabilize it. He allowed other superficial memories to fly past: Ron and Hermione at the Burrow, Dudley whining about his diet, flying on his Firebolt. The pressure increased, and he had a harder time keeping his memories secured. It took repeated attempts, with Devon exerting an increasing amount of pressure, before the trunk lip finally popped open; even then, Harry was able to slam it closed again with only a hazy image of one of his dreams from the night before flitting past him.

“I believe that will be sufficient for this morning,” the older man told him as Harry dropped thankfully into his chair. “You performed marginally better than your usual mediocrity.” 

Harry blinked, his scar aching from the lesson, and he tried to figure out if he’d been complimented or insulted. He rubbed his forehead absently as he decided to just stay quiet.

“Here.” A cup of tea was placed in his hands. “You did well, Harry.”

A smile erupted on Harry’s face, and he could see a small curve to the normally stern man’s lips, and the golden eyes were warm when they met green. Dropping his gaze to his hands when he felt his cheeks heating, Harry sipped carefully at his tea. With a concerted effort, he turned his thoughts to the next lesson. Devon sat down beside him in the chair Harry thought of as his, drinking his tea in silence. 

“Um, Devon, how are we going to get me to, uh, produce my raw magic?” 

Setting his cup in its saucer on the table, the Potions master glanced at Harry. “I am not really certain, but we will try several different techniques, one of which might prove helpful.”

Half an hour later, Harry was quite sure he didn’t like the ‘techniques’ they had tried. All of his attempts to draw his magic out had failed. No amount of concentration had gotten him closer to his ‘raw’ magic, and they had only succeeded in making his scar hurt worse. He could tell that it was frustrating Devon just as much, the man was sliding back into being the greasy git of a Potions master the longer the lesson went on. 

“You need to try harder, Potter!” Devon snapped at him.

“I am trying!” Harry yelled back, his head throbbing.

“Clearly you are not trying hard enough!” he ground out. “Don’t waste my time, Potter, unless you are willing to give it your best effort!”

“I AM try—”

“Do you think you are above the rules, Potter? You think you can tie up my time with this pathetic effort, especially when you clearly do not care to cooperate!”

His temper rising, Harry curled his hands into fists at his sides. He could not understand the man’s sudden change from being halfway human to being, well, Snape! The black-robed man stalked toward him, robes billowing behind him.

“You are just as arrogant as your father ever was!” shouted Snape as he stuck his face close Harry’s.

Enraged, the young man could feel the magic swirling around him so fast he was dimly aware of his hair ruffling in the breeze it was creating. With narrowed eyes, he looked up at the face so close to his own, and opened his mouth to scream back at the man. He never had the chance; instead he was yanked against a slender body, and his lips were taken in a hard, heated kiss. His raw magic swirled around him for a long minute, as Harry felt his mouth plundered. As he gave in to the kiss, slipping his arms up and around Severus’ neck, he felt his magic turn inward, seeping into his body, especially his head and his heart, sending a warm wave of sensation through him. His scar heated and tickled intensely, but did not hurt, and Harry ignored it as the kiss deepened, pressing himself against his soul mate.

hpsshpsshpss

Severus Snape had seen that his last effort at rousing Harry’s ire had finally had the desired effect, as he noted appearance of sparks in the air swirling around the Gryffindor. Knowing he would owe the young man an apology for his harsh, false words, he debated on the best course of action now that they had produced the potentially dangerous magic. Albus had mentioned that the younger man might need to be grounded in order to utilize the powerful magical energy. He was not sure which part of his brain suggested it, but the budding idea for grounding Harry appealed; before he could talk himself out of it, Severus grabbed Harry’s shoulders and kissed him. 

Stifling the groan that tried to crawl out of his throat, Severus could feel the raw magic swirl around them, its power immense. As the kiss turned hungry, he could feel the magic seeping into him, making his Dark Mark heat noticeably, but not painfully, and tingling as the wave of magic seemed to linger on it. Feeling Harry press against him, the Potions master slid an arm around him, lifting the other hand to cup the back of the dark head. Mapping the interior of the lush heat that opened to him, he set about learning the taste and feel of the young man in his arms, and encouraged Harry to do the same, delighted at the moan his exploration generated. 

When the heated kiss threatened to devour them both, the older man gentled it, slowly withdrawing. Pressing his cheek against the soft raven hair, Severus kept his arms around the slender figure as he struggled to get his breathing under control. He refused to pull himself away from Harry, not wanting the younger man to misconstrue his action or feeling as guilt or disgust. He was pleasantly surprised when the Gryffindor continued to press against him, his desire as evident as the Potions master’s. Severus savored the feeling, marveling at the way their bodies fit together perfectly.

“A bit unorthodox I admit. It was an effective means of grounding you, but I am loathe to insult you into a rage every time we attempt to practice.”

Smiling, resisting the urge to rub himself against the older man, Harry pulled back slightly. The golden eyes that met his were not the color he would have preferred to see, but they would do for the moment. Drawing his arms back, he boldly locked his hands behind the Slytherin’s neck.

“You did seem to anchor the magic, even though it felt a bit strange when it flowed through me. It made my scar feel really warm and sort of tickled it.”

The golden eyes studied his face intently. “It did the same thing with the Dark Mark on my arm. Interesting.”

It was surreal to the Gryffindor to be standing there talking, still pressed fully against his most hated professor, yet feeling more comfortable than he ever had with Ginny. Taking the risk of being hexed, Harry leaned forward, burying his face in the warm hollow of Severus’ throat for a moment before he pressed a kiss against the soft flesh. The hand cupping the back of his head tightened fractionally, but allowed him to pull back and look up again. Long, slender fingers stroked softly through his hair as the two men studied each other silently.

“Is your scar still hurting you?”

“Just a bit, not nearly as badly as it was after the Occlumency lesson,” Harry told him, his thumbs stroking along the nape of Severus’ neck. “I suppose we should think about lunch. Ron and Hermione will be here shortly.”

He had no sooner spoken, when the fireplace flared green. As Harry dropped his arms, Hermione came through the Floo. Severus took an unhurried step back, then turned to look at the witch. Hermione’s perceptive eyes flitted from Harry’s flushed face and swollen lips to the spots of color on the Potions master’s cheeks, and to both men’s surprise, she smiled broadly.

“Harry, Devon, I take it your lessons went well?” she asked cheekily.

Ron stepped through at that moment and greeted the pair. Finally Harry looked back at Hermione, a lopsided smile on his face.

“Yes, actually, I did okay, I think,” he said, shooting a glance at the older man, slightly confused by his neutral expression. “At least Devon didn’t hex me for doing anything wrong.”

“Indeed, Mister Potter,” the man in question drawled, “the day is still young.”

Ron shifted from foot to foot, oblivious to the undercurrent in the room as he looked from his girlfriend to Harry, and then Snape. “That’s great, Harry! You certainly look better than you did after those bloody lessons fifth year! So, can we eat lunch before we Floo over to Hogwarts?”

With a laugh, Harry led the way to the kitchen, a thoughtful Hermione trailing behind him.

* * *


	19. Strange Bedfellows

* * *

That afternoon the quartet Flooed directly from the Dumbledore House to the private chambers of the Potions master of Hogwarts. The rooms had been heavily warded by Professor McGonagall and Snape the day before, while Harry had been in the Room of Requirement, and now allowed only them entrance. Taking the parcel containing potion ingredients, Hermione had followed Devon through a doorway off a short hall, which presumably led into the lab, leaving Harry and Ron in the sitting room. The room was done in rich earth tones; a dark chocolate brown leather couch was flanked by matching arm chairs, and the rug covering the stone floor was cream with forest green accents, a theme carried through what he could see of the adjoining room, which Harry took to be a study. A smaller portrait of Albus Dumbledore, currently empty, hung between the fireplace and an enchanted window set in the far wall. Another door stood ajar on the far side of the room, the darkened interior barely visible from Harry’s vantage point on the sofa.

Ron sat gingerly down on the couch in front of the now unlit fireplace. Setting the book he carried on the table, Harry pulled out a roll of parchment and slid off the couch on to his knees. Looking around, he spied an ink well and quill on the edge of the desk in the study and summoned both wordlessly. He unrolled the piece of parchment and went over the list, marking the items they had found with an X.

> _**Horcruxes:**  
>  Riddle diary X  
> Slytherin ring X  
> Slytherin locket  
> Hufflepuff cup X  
> Gryffindor’s dagger X  
> Nagini ?  
> Curse scar?  
> Ravenclaw artifact?_

It felt good to be able to check off four of the items on the list. Of course the ink from Snape’s desk turned out to be blood red, and Harry grinned at the contrast with the black words. Ron still sat stiffly on the couch, as if traumatized by the very thought of being in the Potions master’s private rooms. Smothering a snicker, he leaned back over the parchment. The Slytherin locket was the most pressing problem at the moment, followed closely by the matter of the sixth Horcrux, the location of which was still being debated. The teenager was convinced the Ravenclaw artifact was still somewhere in the ruins of the cottage on his family’s ancestral property, and planned to search for it again while he was there for his birthday.

The locket was proving to be elusive. Dobby was following Mundungus Fletcher, and they had hoped the sneak thief would lead them to where he had sold it in a timely fashion, so that they would at least have a place to start looking. The portrait-Dumbledore could only tell them that he believed Fletcher targeted his ‘business ventures’ to the area around Diagon Alley. The ginger-haired, bandy-legged idiot, however, had headed straight for a Muggle pub the minute he left Grimmauld Place, and had gotten thoroughly pissed before crawling up to one of the rooms above it to pass out. Dobby had been disgusted as he had told them all in the kitchen of the Dumbledore House during lunch; he was clearly not enamored of his latest assignment, but Harry knew he would stay with the man. Kreacher was still at Hogwarts, under the ‘guidance’ of Winky.

“So, we still have to figure out what the last Horcrux is and where it is hidden,” Harry spoke up, shattering the silence. He had to swallow a snicker at Ron’s nervous jump. “Oh, relax would you!”

The redhead glared at him, the blue eyes uneasy. “Bloody hard to relax when we’re sitting on the greasy git’s own couch!”

“Shut it, mate,” Harry told his best friend with a frown. “He is on our side, he deserves our support, at the very least.” 

With a sheepish look, Ron shrugged his shoulders. “I know, but it’s all still too weird, you know, Snape turning put to be on our side and all, especially after what happened.”

“Yeah,” the raven-haired teenager conceded, thinking of all the changes that had happened since Albus Dumbledore had died almost a month before, especially where Severus Snape was concerned. “A lot has changed, hasn’t it?”

“Speaking of things changing, mate, er,” Ron stuttered, “you see, Hermione and me… well, last night we… you’re our best friend, you see… and we…”

Harry watched in fascination as the tips of the Ron’s ears turned bright red. He smothered a smirk as he realized what the redhead was trying to spit out, a pair of obsidian eyes flashing in his mind. He smiled softly and leaned over to bump Ron’s knee with his shoulder, then he turned to look at him, meeting the anxious blue eyes.

“I think I get it, Ron, and I am really happy that the two of you have – finally – gotten together.” The envy he felt slipped into his voice, and Harry willed it away. Pushing up onto his knees, he cocked his head, asking earnestly, “Can I ask you, how did it, you know, how did it feel?”

“Bloody amazing, Harry,” came the response. The blue eyes unfocused to stare vacantly ahead, and a goofy smile spread across his face, making Harry grin at his love-struck friend.

hpsshpsshpss

The iridescent potion shimmered gently as he completed the necessary counter-clockwise strokes, and Severus rested the pewter stirring rod against the edge of the cauldron. Glancing over, he watched the young witch’s hands slicing the murtlap tentacle with sure, precise strokes, efficiently preparing the last of the ingredients they needed. Severus had been pleasantly surprised by how well the two of them had worked together, with an economy of motion and little conversation, and he had to admit that the Gryffindor know-it-all was an able assistant. Watching the potion for the described color change, the Potions master found the exact amount of murtlap he required pressed into his hand when he held it out. Stirring quickly clockwise, he added the tentacles, then switched to slowly stirring counter-clockwise. The potion took on a bluish, pearlescent shade and continued to simmer gently as he leaned down and spelled the flame lower. Setting the implements to one side, he accepted the towel from Hermione and wiped his hands.

“It must simmer now undisturbed for 65 minutes.”

Looking over, the older man was not surprised to find intelligent brown eyes studying him intently, a new understanding in them. Severus steeled himself for the conversation he felt must be coming.

“Do you really think this potion will help Harry, sir?”

That was not what he had expected and he blinked once in surprise. “It is one of the more potent and traditionally successful potions, Miss Granger, and it is a place to start. We will not know the degree of success until it is tested.”

The shrewd eyes studied his every expression. “If Harry has a vision tonight, sir, you will be the closest to him to administer the potion and note how he reacts to it.”

He frowned at her. “Why is that?”

The chit titled her chin up defiantly. “I will be moving into Ronald’s room at the end of the hallway, sir; if you are uncomfortable with that, we will go back to Grimmauld Place. Either way, I most probably will not be in a position to hear Harry if he calls out.”

Severus arched a golden eyebrow, his arms folded across his black-clad chest, and tried to regain control of this bizarre conversation. “Why, pray tell, would it bother me where or with whom you choose to sleep? You are both of age, and as long as it does not bother Harry, I have no objections.”

A smile erupted on the young woman’s face and she fairly radiated her happiness. “Thank you, Devon.” She cocked her head inquiringly. “Does that mean you won’t stop Harry from being happy as well?”

The question took him by surprise, and for a moment he could only stare as his mind feverishly searched for a response. Hermione’s eyes softened as she took in the rare moment of unguarded confusion on the older man’s face.

“I saw his face when I stepped out of the fireplace this morning, and I know Harry well enough to tell you that he is very close to losing his heart to the man he believes is his soul –mate.” Those eyes speared through him for a moment before she continued, “While my soul mate may have a bit of trouble with it at first, I for one am delighted for Harry.”

Schooling his face into a sneer now that the inevitable had been addressed, Severus tried to ignore they way his heart pounded at her words. “You are hardly one I would choose as a confidant, Miss Granger…”

“Hermione,” she corrected him quietly, her brown eyes glittering, “and you have no one else, Devon. I will gladly help you with Harry, if for no other reason than it would give him a little of the happiness he so deserves.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Unless this is some kind of a game to you…”

“It is hardly a game, I assure you, Hermione,” Severus sighed, taking in the slip of a girl, clad in a pink jumper and jeans. “You can rest assured, however, that Harry is not the only one whose… heart is endangered. I appreciate your support, but I assure you nothing will happen between us until after Harry’s birthday.” 

What the dour older man had always thought of as a rather plain face lit with laughter. The warm brown eyes sparkled and a quiet beauty was brought alive by love as he gaped at her. 

“I can see that even after all these years, Devon, you truly do not know the depths of determination our Golden Boy has, or the lengths he will go to for someone he loves. I would not hold on to your goal too tightly — a lot can happen in a week.”

hpsshpsshpss

Harry eyed the strange look on the face of the Potions master curiously when he and Hermione rejoined them in the sitting room. Ron had loosened up enough to join Harry on floor, and pouring over the map they had tried to sketch of Diagon Alley. Knockturn Alley and its environs were quite vague, since the map was based solely on Harry’s recollection of his two brief trips there. Trying to show a larger picture, Harry had filled in the location of the Leaky Cauldron and the neighborhood of Muggle London around it, which he remembered from watching out his window the summer before his third year.

“Hermione!” Harry leapt to his feet, mischief gleaming in his emerald eyes. He swept her into his arms and bent her over his arm with a dramatic kiss that he had only faint knowledge how to perform.

“Oy! Mind your hands, mate!” Ron got to his feet, grinning at his best friend’s antics as he brushed off his pants. 

The redhead moved to stand shoulder to shoulder with the golden-haired Potions master, seeming to forget, again, the man’s true identity, as they both watched Harry whisper into the witch’s ear. Her cheeks as pink as the jumper she wore, the young woman giggled at her friend, who had bent to whisper his congratulations in her ear.

“As loathe as I am to call a halt to this celebratory scene,” interrupted a snarl that lacked the cold hatred the trio had come to expect from Severus Snape, “we have an hour while the potion shimmers to begin your Occlumency lessons.”

Harry had to smother a laugh when Ron’s face lost all its coloring, knowing his friend’s thoughts had jumped back to their fifth year and the torture he had endured in the name of Occlumency lessons. A glance at Hermione’s face had him smothering another snicker, for her eyes glowed with excitement and challenge: for his best friend, any lesson was intriguing. A shiver of apprehension went through him; the four of them had managed to attain a level of trust, and he was concerned that would be lost if things proceeded.

“Sev… uh, Devon?” He resisted the urge to hurt himself as his mind chanted _Devon Devon Devon_. 

The golden eyes held a measure of surprise when they met his, but the teenager ignored it, unaware of the mixture of pleading and determination in his own. “Maybe you could start with Hermione, while I show Ron how to clear his mind first.” Harry took a breath. “That’s what I had such a problem with that at first, remember?”

“Quite.” The golden eyes held an apology, and the response drew a brilliant smile from the younger man.

“But why do I have to learn?” Ron sounded like a petulant child, the fear coming through the pout as he turned to face Devon Prince.

“There are only five of us, Mister Weasley, who know the complete truth about what happened to the Headmaster and the search for the Horcruxes. Would you put the lives of the rest of us in deadly peril simply because you are afraid of learning how to block intrusion into your mind?” Ron’s face flushed as Professor Snape once more emerged from the Polyjuiced man in front of him, pinning him with a glare. “And do not make the mistake of believing that the Dark Lord is the only other person in this word to be an Occlumens, as it is practiced by many Dark and Light wizards.”

The youngest Weasley paled even more, if that were possible, and Harry walked over to take his arm, guiding him back to the couch as Hermione and Devon Prince moved to the alcove near the desk. Pulling his friend down beside him, Harry put his thoughts into order as he considered what the older wizard had said. The truth of his words hit the Gryffindor with the force of a Bludger. Another example of the arrogance that Snape had always accused him off, he thought bitterly, the image of Lucius Malfoy’s haughty features flashing into his mind. He closed his eyes briefly, wondering if he would ever do anything right in the eyes of the older man.

When he opened his eyes to meet Ron’s, his friend’s sky-blue eyes were filled with trepidation. Harry gave him a reassuring smile.

“It’s actually not that hard to do, mate, especially when you are just trying to protect your thoughts. One of the reasons it went so badly for me is that Snape was trying to teach me to cover the fact that I was hiding things, so that Voldemort would not know I was using Occlumency. You will just need to hide the important things.”

Ron sighed with relief, and Harry grinned at him, even as he heard _‘Legilimens!’_ from the alcove. His friend stiffened at the sound of the spell being cast at his girlfriend.

“Ron,” he redirected the redhead’s attention, “do you have somewhere that you hide things at home?”

“Yeah,” his friend answered absently, his attention still focused over Harry’s shoulder, “Dad made each of us a treasure box when we were little, spelled it so only we could only open our own.”

Harry frowned, not understanding. “Why did he do that?”

The blue eyes followed the flash of pink in the alcove. “He did it for all of us, mate, so that we had a bit of privacy from each other. It’s what dads do, you know.”

Trying to swallow around the lump that suddenly constricted his throat, Harry closed his eyes as he willed away another surge of envy. Would his dad have done that for him? Would he have had little brothers and sisters to annoy him if his parents hadn’t been betrayed all those years ago? A hand touched his arm lightly, and Harry’s head snapped up to see remorse in the blue eyes.

“I’m sorry, Harry. Sometimes I just don’t think.”

Taking a deep breath, he attempted to smile reassuringly. “It’s fine, Ron. Now close your eyes and picture your treasure box in your mind, Ron. One by one take all the stuff that you know about the Horcruxes, Dumbledore’s death, and Snape, and lock them away in the box, where no one else can get to them.”

The redhead closed his eyes tight, and Harry knew that he was using the part of his brain that made him a formidable chess player to do as he was directed. Half turning in his seat, he looked back as Hermione and Devon faced off again, and he was pleased to see the witch face the wand in the Potions master’s hand without flinching. Hermione swayed a bit as the spell was cast, but she kept her balance until it was lifted, and Harry saw a hint of a smile twitch at the corners of the Devon’s lips. With a shake of his head, Harry reflected that his friend must have read every book she could find on Occlumency back in fifth year when he was suffering through his lessons, and had worked on the techniques until she had perfected them.

Ron didn’t fare as well, but was able to resist the intrusion into his ‘treasure box’ better than Harry had when he first started. Wordlessly handing the teenager a headache draught, the older man swept out of the sitting room to tend to the potion at the appointed time. Harry wandered back to the lab a few moments later, as his best friends had lost themselves in each other on the couch.

“Can I help with anything?” 

The golden eyes played over his face for a moment before handling him a crystal vial to hold. In companionable silence, the two decanted three doses of the iridescent lavender liquid that the potion had been reduced to, carefully corking each vial and sliding them into a rack for transporting. 

“Do you think it will work?” Harry asked softly, watching the play of candlelight on the vials, missing the look that flashed across his companion’s face.

“I would choose to be optimistic in our endeavor, but the proportional statistics would favor the negative.”

The teenager’s head shot up and he grinned at the Potions master. “You can’t just say we won’t know until we try?”

An eyebrow arched, and the older man gave him a mock sneer. “I do believe I just did.”

hpsshpsshpss

Dumbledore House was quiet in the warm summer night, the bedroom windows open to encourage the minimal breeze to enter. The inhabitants were sleeping, a strong silencing charm protecting the new couple’s privacy at one end of the corridor, while at the other end, two wizards slept. One slumbered peacefully in the smaller of the two bedrooms, while the older of the two shifted restlessly in his bed. The quartet had spent a quiet evening going over the possible whereabouts of the Slytherin locket and debating the identity of sixth Horcrux. As a group they had decided to venture into Muggle London the next day to search the area around Diagon Alley for any signs of where Mundungus Fletcher might have sold the locket.

The youngest member of the household began to shift on his bed, kicking the covers to the foot as he began to dream. Obsidian eyes held his, inflaming him with desire. Sure hands peeled layers of clothing away from his body with long, slender fingers. Harry arched into the touch as warm skin was revealed; those incredible fingers stroked his face, then down his throat and across his chest. The teenager moaned at the sensation that flowed through him, reveling in the tingle of mixing magic that he had come to expect from the older man, and wordlessly urged the roaming hands to continue their quest. Another groan escaped him as the fingers brushed over his thigh, and the shadowy dream figure moved to disrobe next to the bed, the black robes dropping to the floor just as a hand shook his shoulder.

“Harry?”

The blurry figure by the bed had shed the black robes, and pale skin gleamed in the darkness. Harry captured the hand that reached toward him, tugging Snape down on top of him. Sliding his hand up into the long, silky hair, the teenager brought the startled face down to his and kissed him. Swallowing the older man’s grunt of surprise, Harry kissed him as he had wanted to for days, arching up into the warm, silk-clad thigh that had ended up between his legs. His other hand slid over the rounded arse and pressed it down firmly, and he felt Severus stir against him. With a slow, caressing hand, he kneaded the firmly muscled cheek, and their tongues battled as the older man began to rub against him. The lips left his to nip a trail along his jaw, and he arched against the body pressing into him. Both his arms were caught and maneuvered over his head, pinning his hands there as his lips were taken in another searing kiss.

Harry moaned when he felt Severus wrench his mouth away to pull back to look down at his face. Trying to give chase, he bucked up, rubbing his erection against the long, hard length pressing into his belly, drawing a hiss from the Potions master.

“Harry!”

With another groan, Harry tried to tug the older man back down, not yet willing to leave the dream he had woven around them.

_“Lumos!”_

The flare of a candle beside the bed ripped the glaze from Harry’s eyes, and he looked up into the heated golden eyes of Devon Prince, his mouth gaping open as the reality of what he had done hit him. Blinking in the sudden light, trying to focus without his glasses, the face above him was softly blurred around the edges and just as flushed as his own felt. Harry tried to scramble back onto his pillows, only to find himself held firmly. Devon settled his body back over the younger man, his golden eyes absorbing the emotions flitting over his face: embarrassment, arousal, and longing.

“I heard you moan, I thought you were having a nightmare or a vision,” the silky voice was slightly breathless to Harry’s ears.

Harry shook his head, mortified, and buried his head in the expanse of Devon’s throat. A hand stroked through his hair, sliding along the soft, fine locks at the side of his head. There was a quick movement, and when they settled, Harry found himself on his side, tucked into the side of the older man, his head nestled on the broad chest. An arm was looped around his waist, and the other continued stroking his hair.

“I see,” the deep voice rumbled under his ear. “Perhaps it would be prudent of me to remain here, in the event you do suffer from one of the visions of which we speak. It would not do for me to be too far removed and unable to administer the potion in a timely fashion.”

With a smile, the teenager snuggled closer, enjoying the feeling of skin on skin. The pleasant tingle of magic slowly lulled him into a deep sleep.

* * *


	20. Getting Things in Order

Diagon Alley was sparsely populated. A steady mist was falling in the unseasonable chill, and Harry shuddered at the thought of the underlying cause, namely Dementors breeding. 

_Just another worry on the plate of the Chosen One,_ he thought bitterly, mulling over the articles _The Daily Prophet_ had been publishing recently. His mind returned to the conversation the previous evening, when Minerva McGonagall had arrived for tea. The stern Headmistress, who had come to relate the decision of the Hogwarts Governors, had seemed to have aged years in just the week since Harry had seen her. Devon Prince had joined them in the sitting room as their former Head of House described the security measures demanded by the Governors to ensure the safety of the students, including the squad of Aurors now housed inside the castle, another squad in Hogsmeade, as well as patrols along the edge of the Forbidden Forest. All Care of Magical Creatures classes would be moved to one of the smaller greenhouses, where the students would be closer to the castle, and presumably safer. 

Although he was uneasy about giving Voldemort a target as big as the Hogwarts Express, the teenager acquiesced to the wishes of the Headmistress. With a sigh, convinced by verbal support from the portrait of Albus Dumbledore, Harry had confirmed that he and his friends would show up at King’s Cross to be a visible presence for parents to see when they escorted their children to the station on September first. There would be Aurors and Ministry officials present as well, and every student above fifth year was to be checked for the Dark Mark. Anyone bearing it would be summarily expelled and their wands snapped. The only thing Harry had asked in return was that the Headmistress continue to keep the Minister of Magic away from him. Harry had no use for Rufus Scrimgeour, and no desire to speak with the man.

The Potions master seemed to agree with Harry, and had given in much more easily than Severus Snape would have when Professor McGonagall asked him to accompany the trio on the train. The older man had locked himself in his lab for the three days prior to McGonagall’s visit, appearing only for the infrequent meal. The three teenagers had postponed their trip to Diagon Alley while they worked on mapping out places to check in the London area. Hermione insisted they start on their summer assignments in the meantime, and they all practiced their Occlumency as they waited for Dobby to report back on Mundungus Fletcher’s movements. Devon seemed to approve in the rare moments he crossed their paths, occasionally casting _Legilimens_ on one or the other of them before disappearing back into his laboratory. Each night, however, the older man slid into bed beside Harry after the other two had retired, holding the teenager as he slept, under the pretence of waiting for a vision to occur. The younger wizard reflected that he had never slept as well as he had in these past few days, although he wished the other man would stop leaving at dawn. Harry had begun to dream of waking up in those arms.

Harry smiled as he followed Ron and Hermione through the Leaky Cauldron, ducking his head when Tom the barman glanced at them, even though he knew their disguises were firmly in place. A pair of young men sat near the fireplace, hands resting on the tabletop as they talked animatedly, fingers entwined, and Harry tried not to stare. Such open affection among couples was something he had not noticed before, and in his distraction he almost lost his companions. Glancing around urgently, he caught sight of Ron’s blond hair and thick mustache, which masked the most obvious of his Weasley traits, and Hermione’s sleek brown hair, which had been spelled short, the ends just brushing her chin as she moved. Harry was again transformed, his eyes hazel, with dark auburn hair brushing his shoulders. Dobby had been able to give them several different addresses to investigate as they ‘shopped’, and Hermione had made Harry an appointment with a Muggle eye doctor.

Lunchtime found them foot-weary and frustrated, slumping into chairs at a small restaurant. Harry blinked rapidly, still getting used to the contact lenses in his eyes. A new pair of oval wire-rimmed glasses resided in a small bag at his side, along with everything he needed for the contacts. Ordering sandwiches and salads, Harry covertly cast Muffliato while they whispered about the Muggle pawn and antique shops they had searched after his appointment. Even with the drawing Hermione had thought to make, no one had admitted to recognizing it. The real problem was that the locket held only a fraction of its value here compared to the wizarding world, where the Slytherin name still garnered attention and inspired fear. The age and quality of the gold would have been worth a few pounds, but to Muggles it was simply an ordinary gold locket. Fletcher had probably gotten less money in exchange for it than he would have in a wizarding pawn shop, but the trade off had been the ease of being able to sell it without the messy questions on how it had been acquired.

Almost to a man, the shopkeepers had taken a look at the drawing, eyed the three teenagers, and denied ever having seen the piece. Harry could not help but wonder about their reaction if the black-clad figure of Severus Snape had swept toward them, his death glare in place. Would he have gotten a different response? Harry’s eyes roamed over Ron’s worn clothing, as his fingers closed around the sack of galleons in his pocket. The Potions master had insisted Harry take a portion of the money they had received from the sales of the basilisk when they left that morning, and even the earlier appointment had made barely a dent in it. With a sudden inspiration, a plan began to form in Harry’s mind as he watched his two best friends walk slightly in front of him, arms looped around each other’s waist. It could only help their cause if they appeared to be people of means.

The afternoon was spent in an expanding circle around Diagon Alley, where the trio exhausted the list of shops to check, all with the same negative results. Stopping at an expensive-looking clothing store, Harry ushered his friends inside, where he picked out jeans and trousers for himself and Ron, while their fashion-aware female companion picked shirts, jumpers and leather jackets for all of them, paying for them with the paper money Hermione had exchanged their galleons for. Slipping back into the wizarding shopping area, the witch went ahead to the apothecary for some potions ingredients Devon had asked them to get, while Harry and Ron detoured into Madam Malkin’s to order new school and dress robes. Picking out several robes for different occasions for both himself and Ron, over the other teenager’s objections, Harry was drawn to a set of robes in black and gold embossed silk. He exchanged a few words to Madam Malkin, who eyed him with amusement as he stumbled through his explanation of buying them as a gift, then nodded and cast a sizing spell on the robes before wrapping them up.

They met Hermione Flourish and Blotts, where she already had all their textbooks set out. The afternoon waned as the trio finished up buying the supplies they would need for the coming school term. Headmistress McGonagall had been able to give them their supply lists early, so they might get the shopping taken care of before the rest of the student rush. Harry had overcome Ron’s initial reluctance take or borrow any money, reminding the taller teenager that he had accompanied Harry down into the Chamber of Secrets, and was therefore entitled to a share of the proceeds. With a smile of thanks, the redhead had tucked the galleons into his pocket and led the way toward the twins’ shop, Hermione clinging tightly to his hand. When he glanced around during their walk through the afternoon crowd, it seemed to Harry that every other person had a companion to hang on to, something he had never noticed before. A pang of longing made the pit of his stomach clench, and a pair of onyx eyes flashed in his mind, bringing a small, hopeful smile to the teenager’s face. 

The Potions master was nowhere to be found when they returned to Dumbledore House, and when questioned, the portrait of the Headmaster told him the man had returned to Spinner’s End. Harry knew the older wizard had potions that he was supposed to be brewing for Voldemort, and that Peter Pettigrew had been snooping around the place trying to spy on him. The formidable wards the teenager knew were set on the house would immediately alert Snape if someone tried to Floo in, but it concerned Harry that Severus could be facing any number of problems while there, including Ministry Aurors. There were only four people in the world who knew the true facts surrounding the murder of Albus Dumbledore and the Slytherin’s role in it, and there was only a Pensieve memory to exonerate him. Fawkes trilled reassuringly at Harry as he stopped to stroke the phoenix’s warm feathers, alleviating his worries for a brief moment.

Taking his purchases up to his room, Harry laid the parcel containing the self-sizing black and gold robes on the bed in Snape’s room before joining his friends in the kitchen. Hermione, dressed in a new soft cotton jumper the same shade of blue as Ron’s eyes, had tea ready. A small bag sat in the corner - the couple was planning on Flooing back to London and spending the night at the Grangers’ home. Hiding a smile behind his hand at the paleness of Ron’s freckled face, Harry munched on the biscuits Dobby had made for them that morning, thankful that he was not the one who would be facing his girlfriend’s parents. 

His girlfriend’s parents. Harry’s mind leapt to the image of Arthur and Molly Weasley standing behind Ginny, all frowning at him as he stumbled through an explanation of his sexuality. No, he thought, sweet Ginny and a home full of ginger-haired children were not his lot in life. Another image began to form in his mind, the picture of a red-faced, hook-nosed man shouting at a cowering dark-haired woman as a small dark-haired child hovered in the background. With concentrated effort, Harry wiped the image out of his mind, wondering if Severus’ parents had been as cruel and unloving as the Dursleys were, or if it had been only his father? Were they still alive, or was the older man as alone in this world as Harry was?

“What are you going to do tonight, Harry?” Hermione asked as she handed him a cup of milky tea. 

“I may look through the books we bought this afternoon,” he told her with a smile. “My head hurts even thinking about Horcruxes or Mundungus! I think I’ll have a night off, just relax.”

Which was just what he did, Harry thought later, as he sat on the rug in front of a softly flickering fire, his Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook sitting on the floor beside him. After a light dinner and a hearty debate with Albus Dumbledore on what curses could be made Dark from Light by intent, Harry was pleasantly tired. If not for the flicker of unease over the continued absence of the Potions master, it would have been a perfect evening. Sipping at the small glass of red wine that the Headmaster had insisted he have, Harry had been carefully alert for any prickle of pain or twinges that might have indicated that Voldemort had summoned him.

As he lay in bed, the mist of the day having cleared off to reveal star-filled skies, Harry watched a particularly bright star twinkle merrily through the window as he tried to relax enough to go to sleep. A vague feeling of disquiet hung over him, but he could not discern its origin. The open window let in a cool breeze, and the sounds of crickets from the garden it overlooked; even with the breeze, the light blanket was too heavy and too hot, and the teenager kicked at it, flopping over onto his back in an effort to get comfortable before turning restless on to his side. The gentle rustling of his bed hangings seemed to mock his inability to relax, and Harry watched them with a frown as they moved to and fro in the draft until their hypnotic sway lulled him to sleep.

The body sliding into bed sometime later startled him awake, and before he could help himself, Harry had the other wizard flat on his back, pinned to the bed by his nearly naked form. Taking advantage of the mouth he was sure would just going to snap at him anyway, the Gryffindor dove in for a heated kiss. His hands, emboldened by his relief that Severus was in one piece, roamed over warm flesh. Strong arms looped around him, pinning his arms, confining his hands to the broad chest under him as Severus gentled the kiss before pulling out of it slowly. 

“What is wrong?” The golden eyes swirled with emotion as they looked up at him.

“I…” Harry swallowed the lump in his throat as he tried to tuck his face against the warm skin, trying not to be distracted by the hard length pressed into his belly, “I was afraid something had happened to you, that you had been summoned or discovered…”

“I have several long term potions brewing in that flop of a house that needed to be tended, Harry.” A kiss was pressed into the soft hair by his ear, then the older man slowly released his arms and eased Harry off him, tucking him into his side.

Another wave of longing flashed through Harry when the warm of naked skin left him, but he was not sure whether it was his own desire or an echo of what Severus was feeling, as the bond between them had strengthened in the past few days. Emboldened, he brought his hand up and laid it on the warm skin over the older man’s heart, feeling the tingle of their combining magic, and pressed his erection into a warm hip.

“Sev… Devon?” 

“Hmmm?”

“Do you really think this means we are soul mates?” 

Harry held his breath. While they had gotten past many of their past differences and had been able to establish a relationship based on understanding, he did not know how Severus would react to a direct confrontation. The two of them had danced around the topic of anything bordering on a validation of why they could feel their magic mixing, or why lately, the teenager seemed to be able to tell what the older man was feeling or when he was hungry and tired. The dog-eared book on soul mates had described how those mates who were especially sensitive to each other could read the emotions and physical feelings of the other partner, even without the benefit of a formal binding spell, their magic binding them together of its own accord. 

The Potions master shifted to so he could see Harry’s face. “Would it frighten you if we were?” 

“No.” Harry shook his head slightly. “I think I like the idea, actually.”

A genuine smile twitched at the corner of Severus’ mouth. “Indeed, Mister Potter, it is a rare occasion in which I find myself agreeing with you.”

Rolling his eyes, the teen nipped playfully at the flesh under his cheek. “Git,” he muttered before his eyes closed. Pressing himself flush against the older man, he slid comfortably into sleep.

hpsshpsshpss

It was the screams around him that drew his attention more than the dull throb in his head. The dark night was lit by flashes of green spell-light, and flames. Harry stood looking over the scene set in a Muggle neighborhood, the large house in front of him rapidly being consumed by the towering inferno, the putrid smell of Dementors filling his nostrils. Black-hooded figures cast Unforgivables on a small group of people who appeared to have escaped the burning building, and Harry laughed, a high, cold laugh, as he watched a teenaged girl writhe under the Cruciatus Curse. The pounding in his head was muted, but he cried out as he saw the flash of a silver otter scatter the knot of hovering soul-sucking creatures; the otter was Hermione’s Patronus.

Harry sat up with a desperate cry, pulling Severus up with him, both instantly awake, the Polyjuiced face looking at him with concern. The vial of lavender liquid was pressed to his lips as a basin was conjured, but Harry’s stomach had already settled. Drinking the potion obediently even as he was struggling to get up, he was held firmly to the bare chest of the older wizard.

“It’s Hermione’s house! The bastard is attacking with Dementors, and I saw Hermione’s Patronus!” The arms tightened fractionally before releasing him. 

Harry scrambled out of bed and dove into a pair of jeans and a pullover, ignoring the flash of silver that he knew was a Patronus. Stuffing his feet into his trainers, he ran from his bedroom to the sitting room, and slid to a stop in front of Dumbledore’s portrait.

“Professor! The Grangers are under attack, and Ron and Hermione are there!”

The Headmaster looked past him; Harry glanced over his shoulder to see the nod Severus gave as he came down the stairs, and Dumbledore disappeared out of his frame without any further conversation. The taller man was dressed much the same as Harry, with black jeans and a cream pull-over, and he caught the teenager’s hand as he reached for the Floo powder. Severus pulled Harry into his arms, and Harry felt the anxiety in running through them both when his verdant eyes met golden ones. He took a deep, calming breath. The unspoken exchange seemed to ground Harry, anchoring the wild magic he didn’t even know he was producing. Taking a deep breath, he clung for a heartbeat before stepping away, squaring his shoulders, and throwing a handful of powder into the fireplace.

“Number twelve, Grimmauld Place!”

The kitchen was empty as he stumbled out of the fire, and Harry was already moving toward the stairs when he heard the Floo activate again. Startled, he turned to see Severus - _Devon, if anyone asks he’s Devon!_ he thought - step out, and his heart clenched in terror. What if someone recognized him? Feeling torn, Harry began to move back toward the fireplace when it flared green again, and Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped out, his wand in his hand.

“Harry!” 

The Auror’s eyes flicked from him to the golden-haired man who stood with his arms carefully and loosely held at his sides. Harry held his breath as the black eyes visually dismantled Snape and reconstructed him from top to bottom. The torchlight gleamed off Shacklebolt’s bald head and gold earring, and he looked quite intimidating. The wand in his hand rose slightly at his side. 

“Who are you?” 

Harry stepped back and grabbed the Potions master’s hand, relieved when he did not pull away. “This is Devon Prince, sir, he is with me. Do you know what is happening at Hermione’s?”

The Auror’s eyes widened fractionally as they took in the way the Boy Who Lived clung to the older man’s hand, practically embracing him, before switching his wand to the other hand in a gesture of acceptance.

“Kingsley Shacklebolt, Mister Prince.”

“Charmed,” Severus told him, grasping the hand that was extended to him briefly.

“Devon is my new Potions professor, Kingsley.” 

Professor McGonagall’s voice was tight as she brushed soot off the front of her red tartan robes. Resisting the urge to sag against the lean body next to him, Harry met the Headmistress’ eyes.

“It would appear that you trust Professor Prince, Harry,” Shacklebolt said in a deceptively quiet voice.

“With my life, sir.” Harry met the dark eyes steadily. 

“As do I,” McGonagall interjected impatiently. “Is there any news of the Grangers?

“Not yet, Professor, but Tonks and her squad should have had time to assess the situation…”

The Auror was interrupted by the sound of loud voices from the upstairs hallway and a herd of thundering footsteps on the stairs. Hermione was the first into the room, her hair and eyes wild, clad only in her dressing gown. Spotting Harry, she threw herself into his arms; one hand encircled his neck and the other reached out to grasp the front of Devon’s pullover. Both men wrapped their arms around her, and the older wizard’s managed to completely encircle Harry as well. The witch managed a broken sob. Pressing his face into her hair, Harry felt his heart lodge in his throat as he wondered who might not have made it out of the attack. Devon simply rocked them both gently. 

“Harry!” 

Arthur Weasley’s voice cut across the babble in the room, and Harry looked up to see him escort Hermione’s parents into the room, followed by a limping Ron Weasley. The relief that flooded through him was almost staggering, and if not for the Severus’ strong grasp, he would have fallen. Ron walked into their arms, not blinking an eye at the idea that it was their previously most hated teacher anchoring the trio. 

Severus inhaled the scent of smoke, singed hair, and Dark curses as he gently shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Damning the self-formed bond that strengthened a bit more each day, he felt the relief and the barely strangled sobs of reaction setting in on Harry, who had already lost so much in this war. The Vow of Protection Harry had accepted on his behalf had pulled them closer by its reciprocal nature. Combined with the developing awareness caused by their souls being matched, the Vow exposed Severus to more untamed emotion than he had allowed himself to experience since becoming a spy for the Light. He tightened his arms as he tried to calm them both. Closing his eyes, Severus knew he would never be able to go back to being the cold bastard he’d been for so many years, at least not to these particular teenagers; that hard-earned façade had been thoroughly shattered. On the other hand, perhaps Devon Prince would afford him the opportunity to become something different.

When the three friends began to mutter quiet reassurances to each other, Severus raised his head, opening his eyes to meet the dark gaze of Minerva McGonagall across the room. When had the witch developed a glint in her eye that rivaled Albus’ damnable twinkle? Perhaps it was a twinkle reserved for the head position at Hogwarts, he thought with a shudder. Arthur Weasley had settled the couple Severus assumed were the Doctors Granger at the table, and Molly had appeared from somewhere with tea. Tonks stumbled into the kitchen, tripping as she crossed the threshold, the ginger-colored feline in her arms protesting his circumstances loudly. Hearing Crookshanks, Hermione tore out of Harry’s embrace, taking Ron with her, leaving Severus to wrap his arms tightly around Harry for a moment. Easing back, he kept one arm around the teenager’s shoulders, conscious of the weight of Harry’s arm looped around his waist, he looked up to meet the fierce scrutiny of Molly Weasley. This was not the way Severus had imagined his re-introduction to the Order of the Phoenix, but he was not in a position to avoid it now, especially when Harry still held him fiercely, turning to bury his face in his shirt as he gained control over his emotions.

Minerva McGonagall stepped in to perform introductions between the occupants of the kitchen, who were eyeing each other warily. The elder Weasleys examined Devon with particular interest, showing some concern over Harry’s familiarity with his new professor. Severus almost sneered, wondering whether the matriarch of the redheaded clan was more upset over Harry’s apparent change in sexuality or the loss of a potential son-in-law. With a concerted effort, he slid firmly back in to Devon Prince’s role and acknowledged the introductions with a nod of his head. Feeling rather odd to be an unknown element here in the tightly knit Order group, he stepped back to give Molly a chance to sweep Harry into a motherly hug. Minerva made her way over to him, one eyebrow arched at him questioningly, and he conjured up a small smile for her.

“Devon, your alert was prudent and managed to save lives.” The normally stern witch returned his smile, and asked him quietly, “I assume it was a vision?”

“Yes, Headmistress. I gave him the potion when he woke, but we have not had time to assess the results.”

She patted his arm. “Let things calm down a bit, then we will send you back to the house. I am sure the Grangers and the Weasleys will want their children close for the next few days, which will give you time to analyze whether the potion has help.” McGonagall shot him a hard look “Albus has told me about the Vow, but there is more at play here, isn’t there?”

The golden-brown head bowed for a moment as Severus debated with himself. “Yes,” he finally replied. He lifted his eyes to meet the shrewd dark gaze leveled at him. “It is a soul mate bond, I believe. Our magic appears to be highly compatible, and the part of the bond initiated solely by proximity has already begun to form.”

The witch looked at him intently before smothering a laugh behind her hand. “Oh my, poor Devon! He never chooses the easy way, does he, our Harry? Given your past… difficulties, it is surprising that he seems to have readily accepted it.”

Severus nodded his agreement as he watched Molly lean toward the raven-haired teenager, gesturing toward him as she whispered intensely at Harry. The emerald eyes turned toward him, and Harry flashed him a smile before turning back to respond to his best friend’s mother. A warm hand lay on his arm, and he turned back to the Headmistress.

“There are no rules banning teacher – student relationships if both are of age, Devon, although it is definitely not something encouraged in the Hogwarts by-laws,” McGonagall reminded him. “And I’m sure you are aware that there are special provisions in wizarding law concerning soul mates.”

“You make it sound as if I have something to offer him, Minerva.”

“I would think a bit of happiness in his life would not go amiss, Devon.”

hpsshpsshpss

It was daylight by the time the tired pair Flooed back to Dumbledore House, where Fawkes greeted them noisily. Ron and Hermione had stayed with their parents, after Harry had pleaded with both the Grangers and the Weasleys to take up residency at Grimmauld Place for the duration of the war. The couples had finally agreed when Harry reminded them that they would continue to be targets due to their children’s friendship with him, and he did not think he would be able to bear it if something happened. When Hermione’s dad brought up the need to support themselves, Harry quietly informed them of the vault full of gold that Sirius had left him, and asked if they would lend their services to the members of the Order and their families in exchange, which both of the Grangers had readily agreed to. His best friends had seemed relieved that their families would be as safe as possible from the escalating violence going on in both the Muggle and magical worlds.

Stripping down, both men tumbled into bed, securely wrapped in each other’s arms. The feeling of rightness that flooded through Harry was overpowering, and he wondered again about this new ability he seemed to have to read the older man’s feelings whenever they were close together. 

Severus was spooned behind him; Harry twisted slightly and pressed his lips to the Potions master’s. After a moment’s hesitation, Severus was kissing him hungrily, turning Harry in his arms to mold the smaller form to his body. Sighing, Harry wove his hands through the strands of soft hair, cupping the back of Severus’ head as he responded feverishly to the arousal that raced through him. With a whimper of need, Harry bucked his hips, rubbing himself against an answering hardness. A large hand splayed across the rise of his arse, pressing their bodies firmly together to create a delicious friction, and he could feel pressure building. He thrust his hips against Severus in an effort to release that tension. His tongue was stroked and sucked, and he was dimly aware when one of Severus’ arms anchored them together. The other moved, and he felt the stroke of a long finger down the cleft of his buttocks. The combination of both of their feelings and electric tingle of compatible magic filled him, and Harry exploded, arching against Severus as he groaned his own release.

Resting against a warm, hard chest, Harry struggled to control his breathing. He felt the whisper of a cleaning charm pass over them, and smiled as his lover settled him against his side, his head still cradled on his chest. Contentment that was not his own flowed through Harry. He felt the chest beneath his head expand for a deep breath, then the stroke of fingers, slightly trembling, through his hair.

Opening his mouth to speak, Harry was _shhhed_ , and a finger was placed across his lips.

“Sleep, Harry. We will discuss this later.”

With a smile, the Gryffindor subsided, sliding into a dreamless sleep.

* * *


	21. Of Ties and Bonds

* * *

It was just past noon when Harry opened his eyes; he might have slept longer, but his warm pillow moved sideways as his bedmate tried to get out of bed, waking him. Rolling over, he buried his face in the sheets that were still warm from the older wizard’s body. Harry smiled, his cheeks heating with the blush he was sure stained them. The thought of engaging in the type of pleasurable behavior he had participated in that morning would have been incomprehensible to him a month ago. A shiver of arousal ran through Harry as he thought about the sheer bliss of the sensual experience he had had at the hands of someone he had thought he hated for so many years. His body reacted to the remembered sensations, and the teenager felt himself harden as he groaned into the pillow.

A hand brushed through his hair, disheveled even more than usual, and that silky voice whispered close to his ear.

“It’s time to get up, Harry, come.”

The teenager groaned as his hips bucked uncontrollably into the sheet beneath him; the dark chocolate voice, the intimacy of the hand in his hair, and their magic tingling along his nerves was a sensory overload the sixteen-year-old could not withstand. Helplessly, he did as he was unconsciously urged, and came. The stroking hand stilled, and to his dismay, Harry heard a snort of laughter from the older man. Mortified, the young man buried his face in the pillow, hoping to smother himself before he had to face the Potions master, soul mate or not.

The bed dipped beside him, and Harry groaned when felt the gentle pressure of hands on his shoulders, rolling him onto his back. A soft kiss was pressed to his forehead as the wash of a cleaning charm brushed over him, and he opened his eyes to see amusement, not ridicule in the golden eyes. A gentle hand brushed the hair back from his forehead, and the teenager could see the corners of the older man’s lips quirk upwards.

“Despite your belief to the contrary, Harry, I too was a teenager at one time. I remember when… climax was easily and repeatedly attained, sometimes involuntarily.” 

There was no rancor in the words and Harry slowly relaxed, smiling shyly up at his lover. The golden-brown hair of Devon Prince fell down around the edges of the older wizard’s face as he leaned down to brush a kiss across Harry’s lips, and then tugged at a lock of his raven hair.

“We have a number of items on our agenda this afternoon, the first of which is to get you showered, dressed, and fed.” He stood up, shooting a mock glare at the Gryffindor. “Then you can explain the expensive set of teaching robes that are littering my bed.” 

A smile touched the pink-tinged cheeks. “Well, I didn’t think wearing Severus Snape’s teaching robes would be a good idea, so when I saw those…”

“You decided to add a touch of Gilderoy Lockhart to my wardrobe?” the low voice purred without malice. The older man leaned down to kiss him again, pulling back before it became heated. “Thank you, Harry, the robes are very elegant.”

The teenager grinned, pleased to have done something right. Hurrying into the bathroom, Harry showered and dressed quickly, pulling on shorts and a t-shirt when he noticed the bright sunlight pouring in the windows. A warm breeze flowed through the house as he made his way downstairs to the kitchen, his bare feet light on the stairs. He paused in the sitting room to stroke Fawkes’ head and exchange greetings with the ever-cheerful Albus Dumbledore, then continued into the kitchen. A pile of waffles and a plate of bacon awaited him at his place at the table. His companion was hidden behind the morning edition of the _Daily Prophet_. A cup of tea disappeared and reappeared at regular intervals behind the paper barrier, and snorts of both amusement and disgust were heard alternately from the same.

“What does it say about last night’s attack on the Grangers?” Harry asked between bites of bacon.

His Polyjuiced companion folded the paper and set it aside before giving the teenager a small smile.

“It gave an exaggerated report of the life and death struggle between the forces of Light and Dark, and somehow still managed to mention five times that Miss Granger is the very special friend of one Harry Potter, and how relieved the Boy-Who-Lived must be that she escaped certain death.”

“Bloody hell!” Harry muttered. “I hate that rag! Did they even mention Ron?”

“No,” the older man flashed a Snape-like sneer, “although they do cite the fact that ‘several’ people escaped from the residence with Hermione.”

“Great,” the younger man grumbled as he slumped in his chair, “they never get anything right! They’ll have Hermione and me engaged next!”

Severus raised an eyebrow in amusement before leaning forward on his elbows, teacup clasped in both hands. Harry could feel the heat of the golden gaze, and his mind flashed to a vision of onyx eyes with the ability to pierce his soul. _Devon_ , he reminded himself for the hundredth time, as he met the scrutiny, automatically checking that his mental trunk was locked tight.

“Tell me about the vision you had early this morning, Harry. It seemed to affect you differently, even before you took the potion.”

Harry blinked in surprise at the abrupt change in topic. A frown creased the Gryffindor’s brow as he thought back to the horrific images that had awakened him. The images ran through his mind once again, replaying as if they were on the telly the Dursleys were so fond of, but he could not think how this vision had been different than any of the others Voldemort had purposely sent him lately.

“It seemed like a normal vision…”

Severus cut across his words with a shake of his head. “No, not what you saw within the vision, its physical affects.”

Harry looked at the man, rerunning the vision once more in his mind, enduring the images again before it struck him. His fork clattered on to his plate when realization hit him.

“It didn’t hurt like they usually do! It was just a dull ache instead of the searing, white-hot pain the hits me like the Hogwarts Express, and I didn’t sick up like I usually do!” he exclaimed as he pushed the rest of his waffle way from him. 

The golden eyes were speculative. “And this was prior to taking the potion, correct?”

Harry looked puzzled for a moment. “Yes, it seemed like it was the screaming that woke me instead of the pain that usually does, but…” There was something else, something just out of his grasp, and he mentally groped toward it.

The intense eyes watched him steadily as he struggled to remember the elusive thought. It started to annoy him that he could not grasp the memory, and the neutral expression on the Polyjuiced face began to irk him. As he felt his irritation head toward anger, the memory of the first time they had attempted to produce his raw magic came back to him, and Harry looked up with wide eyes.

“That day last week! The day we were trying to work on controlling my wild magic! Remember,” he asked agitatedly, “when my magic absorbed into us?”

Severus nodded, his eyes never leaving the animated features.

“I felt my scar heat up, and it prickled strangely, like it itched! I remember thinking it was weird,” the teen said, suddenly blushing, “but I got distracted and forgot about it.”

“Yes, I recall something similar happening that afternoon in the Dark Mark. I did not stop to connect it to your burst of wild magic, however…”

“Your attention was elsewhere, perhaps?” Harry suggested cheekily, his cheeks heating further as he thought of the kiss that had followed.

“Quite,” the Potions master replied dryly. “Nevertheless, that does not explain why or how the raw magic you produce chose to take such action against the ties to Dark magic we each have.”

Glancing out the kitchen window, he tried to diminish the heat in his face as his body reacted to the memory of the heated kiss. Another thing occurred to him, and Harry snapped his head around to stare at the older wizard.

“That’s it, Severus! That is why my magic targeted my scar and your Dark Mark!” The teenager leapt to his feet, not even aware of how he had addressed his companion. “It recognized that the magic in them is tainted and doesn’t belong there!”

The golden eyes followed Harry’s agitated movements, the long, slender fingers of his right hand rubbing unconsciously over his left forearm. “That would mean that your magic, the base essence of who and what you are, recognized me as your soul mate, and flowed through you into me to lessen my tie to the Dark Lord as well.”

Harry nodded his head jerkily, not sure whether this was a good thing or a bad thing, only that it was _them_ and therefore, it simply _was_. He had come around to believing that he would have a relationship with the man sitting in front of him, and had even begun to look forward to more intimate knowledge. It was both reassuring and terrifying to know that the very thing that defined him, his powerful magic, recognized Severus Snape as his mate. 

Severus frowned, not sure he was comfortable with the idea that another extremely powerful wizard was manipulating him, even if it was subconscious in Harry’s case. He had endured years of harsh servitude to the Dark Lord, followed by more years of devotion to the man who had been willing to give him a second chance, willing to protect him. His tie to Dumbledore had been less onerous, but the Vow had still been, in its own way, a form of control over him. Yet, of the three, it seemed that the teenager actually possessed the strongest magical power, albeit very raw at this point, and the fates had decreed them soul mates. This would give the older wizard a measure of that power should they bond, in addition to allowing him to wield a tremendous amount of influence over the powerful young man. In return, he simply had to admit to a teenager that they were destined to be together, and hope that that teenager could become accustomed to his true identity rather than the softened one he currently wore. 

A noise alerted him and pulled him from his deep thoughts. When Severus looked up, he could see Harry standing beside his chair, shifting his weight from one narrow, bare foot to the other. The vulnerability he saw in the emerald eyes surprised him, and he realized, to his surprise, that the insecure teenager expected Severus to reject him. As he studied the too-young face, he noted, perhaps for the first time, that he had inherited Lily Evans' cheekbones along with the startling green eyes, and that the soft lip that Harry was currently chewing on in agitation belonged to neither of his parents. A soft smile caressed his own lips as the Slytherin finally met the verdant gaze.

“De…Devon? Are you all right?” Harry asked, wishing he felt comfortable enough to reach out a hand and brush the strand of hair back that had fallen across the man’s face. “I haven’t put you in danger, have I?”

The golden eyes silently studied his face for another moment before a hand was extended to him, and when Harry clasped it tightly, he was tugged onto the older man’s lap. Maneuvering the teenager across his lap, Harry felt the sigh of contentment that ran through the older man, and snuggled deeper into his chest, savoring the warmth of Severus’ breath where it stirred Harry’s hair. For several moments, the two sat silently, Harry marveled at the feel of being held, and tentatively snaked an arm down to slide around the trim waist. 

“We will have to wait until I am summoned to learn exactly what effect the magic has had. I must be able to feel the Mark, but I would not be unduly upset if some of the more painful aspects of the tattoo have been mitigated.”

Blinking, Harry digested the statement, smiling when his mind told him everything was okay. A finger tilted his chin up, and the warm eyes searched his face.

“Am I to assume, based on your reaction, that you are not averse to this bond developing between us? It was only a month ago that you appeared in the room behind us with your wand drawn, ready to kill me.”

“No.” Harry blinked, wondering if he had understood the question correctly. “I mean yes, I… no!” He took a breath, suddenly nervous. “I am not averse to this bond between us; in fact, it seems to me that it is one of the best things that has ever happened to me.”

He could see the disbelief flare in the golden eyes. “I mean that sincerely. I have never had anyone hold me the way you are right now, and other than Hermione, Ginny, and Missus Weasley, no one has ever had hugged me.” Harry sighed as the throb of their combined magic both comforted and aroused him. Taking a chance on the strength of the bond, he continued, “I feel like I finally have a chance to have someone who wants _me_ , Harry, not poor orphaned Harry Potter, or the Boy-Who-Lived, but just Harry. The chance of a family of my own, instead of feeling like I am intruding into the family who kindly adopted me as one of their own.”

Sighing, Harry stroked his fingers against the front of the sky-blue pullover shirt he was trying not to bury his face in, as he dropped his eyes. “It is not that I don’t appreciate the love the Weasleys have given me, but I just want someone who I can love, someone who I know returns that feeling, and does not expect me to be anything that I am not.”

“There would be many who do not agree with an ex-Death Eater as the mate for the Chosen One.” Severus’ voice rumbled soothingly in his ear, a contrast to his provoking words. Harry flattened his palm against the warm chest where he could feel his love’s heart beat strongly.

“I don’t care what anyone else thinks!” He struggled to pull away, but the older wizard held him fast. “They all expect me to go out and kill Voldemort for them so that they can live their lives in peace and safety, how can they object to how or who I chose to live my live with?!”

“Because you are theirs, Harry,” came the simple reply. “The magical community believes that you belong to them, and therefore, they feel that they have a say in how you live your life. Surely this became extremely apparent to you during your fourth year and the Tri-Wizard Tournament?”

Harry gave in, burying his face in the soft shirt with a groaned. He was very much aware of how interested in his every breath everyone in their world seemed to be, and cringed to think what it would be like if he did succeed in ‘vanquishing’ the Dark Lord as the Prophecy indicated. A large hand came up to cup the back of his head, its slender fingers stroking through his hair, and a feeling of calm flooded through him. In the back of his mind, the spark of an idea flared and began to ignite his imagination.

“Um, Devon?”

“Yes, Harry.”

“You know that my birthday is two days away, and I will be of legal age?”

“Yes.” The fingers faltered a moment before continuing with the gentle stroking.

“As an adult wizard, am I not able to get married without anyone’s consent?”

The fingers stilled, gripping the back of his head, tilting it back so that he had to meet the man’s intense scrutiny. “Yes, you can.”

Harry returned the gaze steadily. “So, if I chose to bond with someone then, it would be no one else’s business? There would be nothing they could do about it after it was done?”

He could just picture the onyx eyes narrowing at him in a furious glare. Instead, golden ones eyed him impassively. “Potter, what harebrained scheme are you hatching in that fertile mind of yours?” 

The emerald eyes searched the older man’s face, searching for any sign of refusal or rejection. “You were the one who acknowledged we were soul mates, correct?”

“Yes, but—”

“And you are also the one who spoke to Headmistress McGonagall and confirmed there were no rules about a teacher/student relationship if I was of-age?”

“Yes, but Harry—”

“And if we were to bond on my birthday, then no one could ever separate us, right?” Harry’s eyes gleamed with hope, with the realization that one of his fondest dreams could come true.

“Yes, but—”

“Do we need a witness or someone to cast a spell—”

“Potter!” Professor Snape bellowed, and Harry broke off startled. “You fail to take into consideration a great many things in your haste to plot the journey through the rest of our lives, particularly the fallout from such a move.” There was fury in the depths of the golden eyes. “Did you even bother to ask me whether I would choose to bond with you?”

Harry’s world screeched to a halt, the breath sucked out of his lungs. His heart hesitated between beats, threatening to implode from the sudden rejection. Horror overwhelmed him as his brain short circuited, stunned by the dawning remembrance that no matter what, this was a man who hated him, who had hated his father and godfather with a passion, and who had not asked to be draw to a skinny, unattractive trouble magnet such as Harry Potter. Just because the older man was sexually attracted to him did not mean that he wanted to be closer to Harry in any way, or that he wished to be condemned to a life with the Gryffindor. 

Drawing a strangled breath, Harry tried to sit up and pull away. His vision blurred, and he blinked frantically to clear his eyes, refusing to give way to the hot tears of loss and embarrassment that threatened to fall. Strong arms came up around him to hold him firmly against the hard chest, and Harry refused to lose his dignity further by struggling. His chest felt like it was burning, and a breeze ruffled his hair as he tried to bring his raging feelings under control. The swirling feeling grew; Harry knew his raw magic was reacting to his distress, and he tried to control it as Severus had been training him to. The arms loosened, shifting him, and fingers returned to carding through his hair once more, the action both comforting and calming. The contact allowed Harry to ground his magic, and despite the turmoil that swirled inside him, he buried his face in warm throat.

“I apologize, Harry, I phrased that badly. I did not mean to suggest that I was opposed to bonding with you, or to minimize the depth of your feeling, but you must take into consideration all the ramifications of your, or rather, _our_ actions.”

Harry could feel the movement of the man’s Adam’s apple as Severus swallowed hard. “I fear that you will come to regret a decision made in haste, Harry, and that in a year or so, when this is all over and done with, you will regret the move that binds us to one another for life. I could not imagine living with the regret and resentment that would fester between us if that were to happen.”

“I may be dead in a month, and I really don’t think I am going to survive this mess anyway!” Harry countered, speaking into the warm flesh against his cheek.

Fingers threaded into the soft, wayward hair at the back of his head, lightly tugging until he lifted his head. The expressive golden eyes, so unlike the obsidian eyes he’d rather be seeing, were filled with remorse and trepidation. While the neutral mask was in place over the softened features of the Potions master’s face, the eyes remained open, and the perplexed teenager met them with more bravado than courage, still reeling from the idea that the older man might reject him. Descending slowly toward him, the warm lips ghosted over his, expressing elegantly with touch what they could not express with words, mutely seeking permission. Unable to suppress the emotion welling up inside him, Harry opened to the tender, loving caresses, giving himself up to the warmth that slowly banished the cold dread that had filled him. 

Pulling back slightly, the warm eyes seemed to search his flushed face. “You are not going to die, Mister Potter, I have invested too much time and energy in you to lose you to that evil bastard, understand?”

Nodding mutely, the young Gryffindor watched him intently as his heartbeat returned to a more normal beat.

“Nevertheless, there are many other reasons why what you propose would not be ideal, including the reactions of your friends. Not to mention the objections of the greater magical community…”

“Severus,” the younger man put deliberate emphasis on the man’s true name, drawing his immediate attention, “I have accepted that we are soul mates, and have come to realize that I have been, uh, attracted to you for a long time. I believe that we can strengthen my magic if we were to strengthen the bond that has already begun to form unconsciously between us, and you have seen that you are what grounds my raw magic.”

Sighing, Harry shifted on the older man’s lap, unwilling to leave the reassuring embrace, but wanting to look the Slytherin in the eye as he spoke. 

“Hermione seems to know my feelings better than I do, so this won’t be a surprise. Ron will object initially, I think, but he will come around. Ginny knew before I did that it was not her, or even girls, that I was sexually attracted to, and the rest of those who consider themselves my ‘friends’ can either accept my choices or leave us alone.”

Bringing a hand up to cup the older man’s face, Harry traced the curve of a high cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. “All I have ever wanted is a family, someone to lavish with the love I feel trapped inside of me, a person to share a family with. I don’t expect you to declare your undying love, but if you could just find it in yourself to care, then I believe we would benefit from formalizing our bond.”

Leaning forward until their foreheads met gently, Severus let out a slow breath. “It is unfathomable to me, but I find that I have already succumbed to your dubious charms, and actually believe that your proposal has merit. As appalled as I am to admit it, this is just the sort of thing that would have delighted Albus Dumbledore; he would have been disgustingly delighted in the whole situation.”

“Does that mean yes?” Harry deadpanned, trying to contain a grin.

“Yes, Harry, it means I believe we should bond on your birthday.” The older man smiled as he pulled away slightly, his eyes homing in on the younger man’s lips. “As for the family you indicate is your heart’s desire, I have no objection to having a few well-mannered children, but you will, of course, carry them.”

Harry blinked. “Carry them?”

“Of course, my foolish Gryffindor, pregnancy is attainable by wizards.” Severus stopped as his lips brushed Harry’s. “We are magical, after all.”

* * *


	22. Anticipation

* * *

Harry and Severus spent the balance of the afternoon practicing Occlumency and Legilimency, particularly the latter, which Severus had come to believe was vital for the young man to learn. Once Harry had managed to clear his mind, the shielding of his thoughts had become second nature. Severus was still able to maneuver around the barriers in his mind; he believed this was due to his familiarity with the teenager, as well as their growing tie. When they moved on to the lessons on controlling Harry’s raw magic, the Slytherin was again impressed by the progress the teenager had made, which had become even more apparent when they shared close, physical contact.

The immense power that he felt in the younger man was intoxicating, and Severus shuddered to think of anyone else being able to influence it. Surely, if the Dark Lord were to devise a way to harness that power, he would truly be unstoppable. That thought, more than anything else, had prompted his acceptance of Harry’s rash suggestion, despite his fear that their relationship would suffer from acting in such haste. Watching the teenager as he sat cross-legged on the rug in front of the fireplace meditating, Severus was surprised at the depth of his own feelings as he took in the tousled hair and maturing features of the Boy-Who-Lived.

“Severus,” a familiar voice spoke his name softly from the portrait over the hearth, pulling him from his thoughts. “Harry is correct in his assumption that bonding with you will allow him to focus his considerable magic, in addition to grounding him in order to fully utilize it.”

Without turning, his eyes continuing to caress the still-seated Gryffindor, the Polyjuiced man answered in a whisper, “But at what cost, Albus? Even if we are successful in vanquishing the Dark Lord, will Harry accept being saddled with Severus Snape, when he thought he was bonding with Devon Prince?”

“You underestimate his immense ability to love, Severus,” the Headmaster admonished gently. “Love is his greatest power, and I think you will be surprised to discover exactly what Harry’s feelings are.”

The former DADA teacher whirled around, glaring pointedly at the smiling man in the portrait. “Are you trying to tell me in your own unique way, Albus, that you actually condone this madness? You believe that an ex-Death Eater bonding with the Chosen One isn’t going to bring the hounds down on both of our heads? They will be especially vehement and vindictive towards Harry, and he does not need that!” Severus spat the last out, his voice started to rising.

The painting looked at him sadly, holding out his hands in a gesture of penitence. “My apologies, my dear boy, I did not mean to upset you or minimize your concerns, and I do agree that no one should know of this bonding except the two of you.”

The Potions master took a deep breath, and was surprised when a pair of arms looped around his waist and a feeling of calm swept through him. Allowing himself a moment of weakness, he leaned back into the welcoming warmth of the younger man. 

“I think the Headmaster is right, De-Devon,” Harry said as he felt the taller man relax in his grasp, “at least for the time being. I know that before the term starts we will need to inform Professor McGonagall, Hermione, and Ron, but for now, I think it needs to be our secret.”

Severus turned slowly in his arms, and Harry lifted his head slightly to look into the warm golden eyes. He could feel the brush of Legilimency, and he opened his mental trunk, laying himself bare. The presence in his mind was nothing like the intrusion of the Occlumency lessons he suffered through in his fifth year, and the teen relaxed as he felt the Potions master withdraw. A slender finger came up to brush the fringe back from the lightning bolt scar.

“Do you want me to…?”

“No,” the teenager shook his head fractionally, “I am not the one with reservations about this.” He met the golden eyes beseechingly. “At midnight tomorrow night, I turn seventeen and gain my majority. I think we need to do this before something happens to prevent us.”

The emerald eyes noted the slight flinch at his words, and Harry wondered if there was more going on than he realized, but he pushed the thought to the side for the moment.

“There is a very powerful soul-binding spell that could be used to bind you together.”

The quiet voice from the wall was unexpected, and both men looked up. The portrait of Albus Dumbledore was looking down at them with a serious expression, and Harry felt a frisson of fear run down his spine. There was something in that look that was reminiscent of the expression the Headmaster had worn the night he explained how and why Voldemort had split his soul in the hope of immortality. 

“I believe you will be able to use the _Virgo Connubialis Vinculum_. Harry is still a virgin, correct?” 

The blue eyes held the same twinkle that Harry remembered from better times. Harry, however, was too embarrassed to appreciated that, his face heating as he translated from his limited Latin.

“You make him sound like a sacrificial virgin, Albus,” the Slytherin muttered, his own cheeks showing color.

The portrait stared down at both of them intently, studying their unconscious poses. Severus still held Harry loosely around the waist. “Next to blood magic, nothing is as strong as sexual magic, and this spell will be especially so if it is cast as penetration occurs.”

Harry felt a whole different type of shiver run down his spine; he tried to gently pull away, but was held fast as the older man looked down at him with a contemplative expression. 

“It would be in our best interest to seriously consider this spell then, as it ties both heart and soul. It is, however, a life bond, Harry, and would tie our lives well as our deaths together.”

The teenager cocked his head. “If we are truly soul mates, why would that make any difference? I do not believe that I would want to live if… if my soul mate died.” Harry looked off towards the kitchen door. “Besides, you may be on the losing end of the situation: I don’t expect to live through all of this anyway.”

An arm yanked him closer and a hand slid into the messy hair at the back of his head, and Harry’s face was wrenched around to meet flaming eyes. _My_ , he thought idly even as the hand tightened painfully, _Severus looks magnificent when he’s angry_.

“You ungrateful little blighter! I have not invested my time and emotion in you to have you give up without a fight! You are _not_ going to simply _lay down_ and _die!_ ” the older man spat at him before claiming his lips in a searing kiss.

Harry lost himself in the moist heat that was engulfing his very soul, the tongue that was mapping the soft interior of his mouth, swamping him with intense waves of arousal. A whimper escaped his throat as he pressed himself against the lean body, his hips moving against with the answering hardness, his suddenly painfully hard erection rubbing as a hard thigh pushed between his legs. The groan that sounded from the lips aligned with his just inflamed his desire even more, but when he tried to communicate that, Severus pulled away abruptly.

“I won’t, Severus, I promise, I won’t…” Harry found himself babbling, trying to pull the older man back toward him.

“Shhhh, it’s all right, Harry, it’s not you.” The Potions master brushed a hand through his hair, ignoring the tremor in it, before stepping back.

Severus pulled up the sleeve of his shirt to reveal the Dark Mark, black and pulsing. Looking down, Harry found he was both drawn and repulsed by the brand, compelled by the sight of the snake undulating as Severus was summoned. Harry reached a hand toward it, and he wasn’t surprised when the Slytherin grabbed it with his right before it could reach the Mark. There was a perplexed expression on the older man’s face.

“Does it hurt?”

“No, actually, for the first time ever, it simply feels very hot.” The golden eyes met Harry’s. “There is none of the pain that always accompanied the summoning in the past.”

Grinning sheepishly, Harry gently squeezed the hand that held him, then leaned in to the taller man to press a kiss to the slightly parted lips, caressing the moist surface with the tip of his tongue. Stepping back, the teenager released the spy, biting his tongue against a request for Severus to ignore the summons. Slender fingers brushed his cheek, and Severus was gone in a flash of emerald flames.

The house felt eerily empty without the older man, and Harry tried to fill the hours that stretched in front of him by looking up the proper incantations for the binding spell they would use the next night. Dobby popped in to bring the teenager a large tray of sandwiches and a goblet of pumpkin juice after he worked past the dinner hour. Harry bit into one absently, chewing slowly while he continued his reading of the ancient books from Dumbledore’s shelves. The flapping of wings heralded the arrival of the two other occupants of the house, Hedwig on one side of his chair and Fawkes perched on the other. 

“Are you here to keep me company, or because you know I can’t possibly eat all of these?” He eyed first one bird and then the other.

The phoenix hopped forward along the arm of the chair, butting at Harry’s arm until the teenager raised his hand and stroked the warm feathers of the bird’s head. With a low hoot of righteous indignation, Hedwig hopped closer, drawing a chuckle from the raven-haired teen, and he reached over to stroke her head with a finger as well. The teenager ended up feeding them the bread crusts from several of the sandwiches. Hedwig nipped affectionately at his fingers in thanks, and Fawkes scooted up to rub his warm head on the young man’s cheek.

“All right,” Harry told both birds with a smile, “off with you both.” He made gentle shooing motions with his hands.

Turning back to the books, Harry began to meticulously copy down the Latin phrases he had found to use in the spell. The translations into English were time-consuming for him, since he had not had the opportunity to learn Latin before attending Hogwarts. Harry was determined to get it right, thus giving Severus one less opportunity to object to their bonding, as there was something within Harry that insisted they needed to do this, and soon. His thoughts strayed to what the older man might be doing, wondering if he had been summoned to be the exalted one of the inner circle, or to be tortured, if not worse. Pushing the latter thought out of his mind firmly, Harry bent his head and re-doubled his concentration on the phrases he was carefully copying: 

**Virgo vinculum – virgin bond  
Debeo pro vita – to be bound for life  
Numerus diligo – total love  
Ligo nostrum animus – tie our souls  
Castitas Diligo Iugum - chastity valued highly bond  
Advenio adultus - come of age  
Redimio pectus pectoris quod animus ut unus – bind heart and soul as one**

His head rolling onto the desk woke him, and Harry blinked blurrily as he peeled parchment off his damp cheek. It was very late, he realized, and Severus was still not back. Wearily, he stacked the parchment he had used for his notes into a pile and stood, stretching his aching back. His stomach clenched at the thought of what the older man might be suffering at the hands of the monster he pretended to serve. The only comfort to the teenager, who had lost so many people close to him in his life, was the tiny voice in his mind that told him Severus was still alive. It was this vague reassurance that prompted him to try to get some sleep. Trudging upstairs, Harry went through his nightly routine and slid into bed. The breeze blowing in the open window smelled of rain, a better, sweeter smell than Dementor mist, Harry thought as he lay staring up at the canopy of his bed. Closing his eyes, the young man reached inward, practicing the exercises the Head of Slytherin had taught him in the Chamber of Secrets, and set about clearing his mind.

A presence at the periphery of his mind surprised him, a shadowy existence that was elusive when he tried to examine it. There was nothing ominous or threatening in the presence, and it was definitely not Voldemort; instead, it seemed to be more of a reassuring and calming influence to the teen. After a few minutes of attempting to identify it, Harry concluded this was the first strand of the bond that had begun to form between him and Severus. The thought warmed the teenager as he sealed his mind and slipped into a restless sleep.

hpsshpsshpss

Harry awoke to a cold bed and gray skies. The air was heavy with moisture, and Harry decided that the weather fit his mood when he realized he was still alone in the house. Heart heavy, and making a conscious effort not to allow his concern and worry to overwhelm him, the teenager pushed himself out of bed. A glance at the clock told him it was still quite early. Going about his normal morning routine automatically, Harry concentrated on the fact that it was finally July 30th, and there was still much to do before midnight arrived. Determined to have everything ready when Severus finally returned, the teenager made his way down the stairs. 

A sudden memory had him detouring to Dumbledore’s desk in the sitting room. Pulling out a fresh piece of parchment, he dashed off a note to Neville Longbottom wishing him a happy seventeenth birthday. Carefully rolling the page into a scroll, Harry called Hedwig to him. Securing the parchment to her leg, he gave the snowy owl an owl treat before sending her off. A plate of fresh scones sat on the counter when Harry reached the kitchen, and he smiled at Dobby’s thoughtfulness. He stirred up some porridge, fixed a pot of tea, and sat down beside the copy of _The Daily Prophet_ Severus would normally be reading. 

As he ate, Harry thought of everything he needed to do that day. Hermione and Ron were Flooing directly to Godric’s Hollow the next morning to help in another search for the Ravenclaw artifact - Harry was convinced Voldemort had left it behind that Halloween night so long ago. The family of house-elves who had served the Potters for generations were already planning a birthday dinner for him, and Harry had given them free reign over the preparations, with Dobby’s help. Harry also planned to spend a day searching the library for books on ways to counter or deflect Dark curses, as well as to continue the research Hermione had started on finding a way to detect Dark magic. There had to be a spell that would aid them in their search for an object as saturated in Dark magic as a piece of Tom Riddle’s soul.

A sudden memory of Tinky, the house-elf at Godric’s Hollow, telling him where the ‘evil’ Horcrux contained within dagger of Godric Gryffindor was had Harry pausing for a moment of contemplation. Perhaps the strong magic that house-elves possessed, which had led them to the Gryffindor Horcrux, could help track down the Slytherin locket, in addition to locating the artifact left at the ruins of the cottage on the property. Harry’s forehead wrinkled in concentration as he began to formulate a plan.

It took most of the morning to go through the books in the Dumbledore library. Harry had scribbled a few notes on house-elves and their magic before deciding that Hermione was the true expert on house-elves. Moving about, he put together a small bag to take with him in the morning, straightened up his bedroom, and launched into cleaning the house. The activity kept his mind from focusing on the concern and worry that threatened to overwhelm him. Under the amused eyes of Albus Dumbledore, Harry even held a delightful one-sided conversation with Fawkes as he dusted the sitting room and the study. After telling the phoenix all about Godric’s Hollow and their plans for the next day, he invited the scarlet and gold bird to join them for cake in the afternoon, and was delighted when the magical bird trilled softly.

He had no appetite for lunch, and ignored the approaching dinner hour as well, stepping outside into the watery sunlight to pace the walled back garden. His worry was a ball of pulsing tightness that sat heavily on his chest, and the teenager sat down on the ground, massaging the ache with the heel of his hand. Shaking his head at his own insecurities, Harry tried to determine when he had come to care so much for the snarky git. Less than two months ago he had hated Professor Snape, a teacher who had done nothing but ridicule and demean him during his six years of schooling at Hogwarts.

Yet, when he though about it carefully, that same bastard of a teacher had saved his life on several occasions, and gone out of his way to try to prepare Harry for his destiny. While the Occlumency lessons of his fifth year had been an unqualified disaster, they had given him an understanding of what Voldemort was trying to do and why he needed to close of his mind. Harry had admitted to himself after Sirius died in the Department of Mysteries that things might have been different if he had not invaded Snape’s privacy by looking into his Pensieve. As hard as he had tried to place the blame on the Potions master’s stopping the training, Harry knew it was his own fault. And despite his behavior, the Slytherin had alerted the Order of the Phoenix of Harry’s ‘vision’. Had Snape not then attempted to locate them, Harry knew he and his five friends would have died in that dismal chamber at the Ministry of Magic.

Even as Severus Snape herded the Death Eaters out of the castle in June, having ripped his own soul apart by killing Albus Dumbledore, he had been concerned with Harry. The words the taller man had screamed at him as they ran across the lawn that night flooded back into his mind as he twirled a stem in his fingers.

_“No Unforgivable Curses from you, Potter!”_

_“Blocked again and again and again until you learn to keep your mouth shut and your mind closed, Potter!”_

His mind flew back, his breath ragged as he relived that flight across the deserted grounds, his anger pumping in his veils, and his terror like bile in his throat. He had been out on the lawn, surrounded by Death Eaters fleeing from the castle, and no one knew where he was. An easy prey, and yet Snape had protected him again, stopping the big blond from cutting him down when he had the opportunity. His beloved Half-Blood Prince, the hero he had dreamed of all year, had been like a guardian angel through the term, and Harry was now convinced that the brusque Defense Against the Dark Arts professor had known he had his old Advanced Potions-Making text.

A familiar hand smoothed the hair back from his forehead, and Harry looked up into the fathoms-deep onyx eyes that he had truly come to love.

“Severus,” he breathed as he leaned into the touch, relief almost overwhelming him as his eyes roamed over the angular features. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” the raven-haired man told him, his skin almost gray with fatigue. “The Dark Lord was out of his favorite torture potions, and I have been brewing since I was summoned.” 

The older man straightened stiffly, extending a hand to Harry, which he took happily, allowing himself to be led back to the kitchen. He stumbled as he crossed the threshold, the absence of sunlight momentarily blinding him, and strong hands steadied him.

“I have you, Harry.”

“Yes, you always seem to be there to catch me when I fall.” Harry gave the Potions master a crooked smile. 

Severus made his way upstairs to shower away twenty-four hours of potions fumes, while Harry made them afternoon tea, humming as he did. Adding bowls of hearty soup to the sandwiches, fruit, and cakes he laid on the tray, the teenager finished preparing the tea and moved it all into the sitting room. He set the tray down on the small table between the chairs and walked over to offer a piece of apple to Fawkes. A soft tread on the stairs brought him around, and Harry sighed in relief as he watched the dark-haired man, clad in sleep pants and a white t-shirt, move towards him. 

Severus Snape was slender, with wiry muscles visible beneath the pale skin, a light dusting of hair decorating it. As he watched, Harry noted again the graceful way the older man moved as he walked, a grace that was apparent in all of his physical activities, whether stirring a steaming cauldron or casting a spell. The lean, angular face was not classically handsome, but it was balanced and interesting, even with the Roman nose that hooked at the end. The deep obsidian eyes might appear to be cold and calculating, but Harry had seen them enflamed with passion and overwhelmed with grief, and knew they were capable of peering into his very soul. 

Moving to join the older wizard by the fireplace, Harry turned his face up for a kiss, amazed at his own audacity. He ignored the snort he heard as warm lips descended briefly on his.

“Come, you impertinent brat,” the rich voice flowed over him. “We need to eat something and take a bit of a nap. You look almost as tired as I feel, and I need my rest if I am to bugger you senseless at midnight.”

The sultry voice had him instantly hard and aching, and Harry had to swallow a gasp. He picked up one of the bowls and began to eat quickly to cover his flaming cheeks. Trying not to think of the images the words had conjured, the teenager shot Severus glances from underneath his lashes as they ate in a companionable silence. He fervently hoped that the other man would stay in his natural form for the bonding, and had no idea how to ask him to do that without offending his soon-to-be lover. One of the things he had recognized in his companion was a level of insecurity that he felt himself, and Harry did not want to make Severus feel uncomfortable.

When the pair moved upstairs to bed, Harry’s mind was still occupied, trying to come up with a sophisticated and clever plan to prevent Severus from taking the vial of golden potion that stood on the bedside table in Harry’s room. Settling into the older wizard’s arms as they laid down, it was the last thing he thought of as he slid into sleep, comfortably cradled against the warm chest.

* * *


	23. The Bonding

* * *

Harry awoke slowly, gradually becoming aware that his body was pressed firmly against a lean, hard form that radiated heat. Blinking his eyes, he found that his head was still resting on the shoulder of his soul mate, Severus Snape. The waning sunlight that filtered into the room lent a warm glow to the angular features. Relaxed in sleep, the grayish tint to the pale skin now gone, the face lost years of stress and worry, and took on a look of vulnerability. It was a face that Harry had dreamed would return to him. He had noticed that after the previous Summonings, the ex-Death Eater had returned in a different short-term Polyjuiced face or his natural form; Harry suspected that Severus did not want Voldemort to know about Devon Prince. 

A thrill of pleasure ran through Harry as he prepared his arguments as to why his soon-to-be bonded should remain himself, rather than transforming back into the golden-eyed disguise. His fingers seemed to have a mind of their own: they wandered over the firm flesh, softly tracing the edge of a pectoral muscle. A flat, dusky nipple nestled in a light patch of wiry hair fascinated him, and he brushed it with a fingertip, amazed when the nub instantly hardened. His companion murmured and shifted slightly in his sleep, and with a grin, Harry leaned up and tasted the treat with the tip of his tongue, laving the nub. What sounded like a whimper escaped the sleeping man, and Harry moved to take the warm flesh into his mouth, suckling gently as he moved to press himself against the warm body. 

A large hand wrapped around the back of his head, its slender fingers weaving into the unruly raven hair, pressing his face against the warm flesh as Severus’ body jack-knifed up. With a feeling of malicious glee, Harry redoubled his efforts, sliding his other hand towards the older man’s nether regions, only to have it grabbed and held firmly as the grip on his head eased.

“As much as I would love to continue this, it is a bit early to start warming up for midnight,” drawled the silky voice from above, the edges sleep-roughened.

Harry grinned and wrinkled his nose, not the least embarrassed. The warmth in the depths of the obsidian eyes and the pink flush on the pale cheeks told him that Severus was not truly angry with him.

“You, Mister Potter, are an impertinent brat,” the older man told him, pulling him up with a tug on his hair. “We have much to accomplish before this will be an appropriate activity.”

“Yes, Severus,” Harry answered cheekily, swooping down to brush his moist lips across the older man’s before rolling out from under his grasp.

Standing at the side of the bed, not bothering to hide the evidence of his desire, Harry held out a hand to the Potions master. Tugging on the elegant hand when it grasped his, the teen smiled as the older man swung his legs off the bed, and stood beside him. Wrapping an arm around his waist, Harry leaned in to steal a hard hug before he was set back a step. His eyes raked down to ogle the cloth-draped erection in front of him. 

“That will be enough of that, my lad,” Severus said with a smirk, turning Harry by the shoulders and giving him a slight shove toward the bathroom. “Do a minimal wash-up and join me downstairs without getting dressed.”

Harry nodded, and moved to take care of his needs. After brushing his hair and his teeth, he straightened his sleep shorts and hurried downstairs. Severus was nowhere to be seen, but a tray with a steaming tea pot stood on the low table in front of the fireplace, and Fawkes trilled a soft welcome as he came into the room. The portrait of Albus Dumbledore stood empty, he noticed, as he moved to stroke his fingers over the phoenix’s head. The fireplace flared green, and Severus stepped out, a light gray summer cloak thrown over his sleeping pants and a small black bag in his hand.

“Come, Harry, we have much to do,” the Potions master said, shaking out the cloak and hanging it on the rack near the entry.

Severus removed potion vials from the bag he carried and set them carefully down on the on the table, away from the steaming tea. Curious, Harry moved to join him. There were several pairs of vials with different colored potions in them, and Harry moved over to inspect them curiously. Standing alone to the far side of the table, beside the cup of tea the Potions master had just poured for him, was a single vial of translucent gold liquid, the specially formulated vial of Polyjuice Potion. Harry’s stomach clenched when he saw it. Severus turned away to set the small leather bag on the floor, and without stopping to consider the older man’s reactions, Harry cupped his palm and scooped the small glass cylinder into his hand as he picked up his cup of tea, removing it just as Severus straightened, He waved Harry into his usual chair as he sat gracefully and sipped from his own cup

“There are several steps we must take to ensure that this bond will be successful, including,” he cleared his throat delicately, “the cleansing and purification rituals.”

The vial was burning a hole in the palm of Harry’s hand. “Cleansing and purification?” 

“We will need to cleanse our bodies, inside and out,” the Potions master said, a hint of color creeping into his cheeks, “in order to rid ourselves of any residue or toxins, so that the bonding spell will adhere more firmly to our magic.”

Harry knew he wore a blank expression on his face, and was not surprised to hear the slight sigh from Severus, who proceeded to slip into his professor mode. 

“Each time our bodies are subjected to any type of magic, be it charm, spell, or curse, there is a varying degree of magical residue left behind. Periodically, our bodies need to be purged of the remnants of this prior magic so that the build up of deposits does not interfere with our own magic. In order to make this bond as strong as possible, we need to purge all of the dregs as we expel all magic other than our own.”

Harry understood the ‘why’ part of what Severus was saying, but was unsure of the ‘how’. “Magic sticks to us?”

With a short shake of his head, the older wizard set his tea cup down and grasped Harry’s unencumbered left hand, entwining their fingers so that their palms pressed together, sending tingles of combining magic running up his arm. 

“All magic, Harry, is alive in its own way, warm and pulsing inside us. When we cast our magic on another living thing, a portion of it adheres to them, and in order to make our bond the strongest it can be, we need to cleanse ourselves of any magical debris, especially any Dark magic or magic cast with ill intent.” 

Harry nodded. The explanation made sense; it was analogous to the portion of Voldemort that had remained in his scar, allowing him to retain some of the Dark Lord’s own power. The feel of their commingling magic raced up Harry’s arm, warming him inside, while his guilt over nicking the Polyjuice Potion made it feel like a dead weight in his other hand.

“What do I need to do?” he asked quietly.

The slender fingers withdrew, leaving Harry feeling momentarily bereft. They plucked three vials from the table and extended them toward the teenager. Harry felt the onyx eyes on him as he awkwardly accepted them in his left hand. Returning his teacup carefully to the table, he kept the small glass container hidden against his palm, and managed to move all four vials into one hand, cursing himself for not throwing on a shirt or something with a pocket. The dark eyes continued to watch him with amusement.

“The red one cleanses the magical residue from your body and magical core, the green one then purges it from your body. The orange potion will clean the toxins and solid waste from your body in preparation for the necessary physical contact during the bonding ceremony.” 

Harry blushed as he met the obsidian gaze, his body suffused by a wave of heat as he contemplated the physical activities in which the two of them would engage. 

“Should I take them all at once?” 

“You can, but there may be some minor physical discomfort to the cleansings, which might be mitigated by spacing them out a bit. Ideally, the green potion should be taken last, after giving the magical cleansing potion sufficient time to work through your body and into your magical core.”

With a nod and a smile, Harry cradled the vials to his chest and picked up the teacup Severus had refilled for him. “I’ll go get started then, shall I?”

Severus watched the young man head up the stairs, letting his eyes linger on the lean, muscled legs as they moved out of sight up the stairs. He hoped that the young Gryffindor would heed his words and take the potions one at a time with adequate spacing. The Potions master shuddered at the memory of the cleansing he had done as soon as Fawkes had brought him to Dumbledore’s house; it had been a particularly painful experience. The residual Dark magic that had built up over three years of casting spells at the command of a megalomaniac had begun to take a toll on his body, physically and magically. The Unforgivables in particular had caused a great deal of pain as the potion cleansed him. The pain was nothing that he did not deserve, Severus had rationalized, having just killed the closest thing to a real father than he had ever had. This cleansing would be relatively painless, he thought as he swallowed the container of red potion.

Harry carefully set the glass flagon of golden liquid on his bedside table, and then the full teacup. Holding the three different colored vials up, he set the green one down as well, then popped the cork on the red and the orange vials, swallowing them in turn. The first tasted bitter, with a touch of fire in the flavor, and the second had the distinct taste of licorice, but Harry could not tell whether it was anise or fennel. Neither potion was a flavor that Harry would voluntarily drink again, and he washed both down with the cooling tea. Grimacing at the lingering taste, he took the empty cup into the bathroom and filled it with water, drinking that, too.

A wave of dizziness sent Harry staggering back to the bed just as his abdominal muscles began to cramp. He lay down, curling into a ball as the cramping grew stronger. A sharp ache started in his chest and seemed to fan out through his body, and he clamped down on a groan. How much magic was there to clean out of his body, Harry wondered as the pain began to run through his muscles in waves. His head exploded in agony for an instant before the pain turned into rolling waves of suffering. His breath came in harsh pants as the intensity of the pain fluctuated for a while, then his right arm exploded in excruciating pain, only to ebb once again after a few seconds.

In between the bouts of extreme pain, a thought formed in the back of his head about the pattern the pain was taking. Before he could examine it, his abdomen cramped as if a giant hand had reached inside him and twisted his intestines in a harsh grip. Curling more tightly in on himself, sweat prickling on his body as the pain from the cramping ebbed and flowed, Harry was able to think for a moment. If his pain was following the progression of years, then he had gone through his babyhood, given the pain in his head, to his second year in Hogwarts, when he had injured his arm so badly, not once but twice. Scanning his shelved memories, he realized he had a few minutes reprieve before the events of the graveyard at the end of his fourth year were felt. Harry braced himself. 

Severus moved about the sitting room, the gentle cramping of both of the cleansing potions having run their course. The orange potion had hardly been necessary, seeing how he had not eaten since being summoned thirty-six hours ago. Fawkes trilled softly as the raven-haired man stroked his head, almost as if he already knew he would pay a role in the ceremony that night. The phoenix had bound the two men during the Fidelity Vow, and Severus knew Dumbledore’s familiar would act in the same capacity for the bonding between them this night, having transferred his devotion to himself and Harry. 

Turning his head, Severus listened intently for a moment. A noise that could have been a groan trickled faintly to his ears. Was it possible that Harry was having difficulty with the cleansing? He cast his mind over what he knew of the teenager’s history; he knew Harry had been cursed several times in the graveyard when Voldemort was resurrected after the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and suspected there were more curses during the fiasco at the Department of Mysteries, but was that enough to cause extreme discomfort? With a frown, the Potions master took the vial of red potion and downed it with one swallow, knowing that it would not take long for the magic to purge. That done, Severus would need only attend to any ablutions and then shower to be ready for the midnight ceremony.

As he set the empty vial down on the low table next to his now-empty cup, Severus decided with a sigh that he could not put off the inevitable any longer. Harry was no doubt looking to bond with Devon Prince, and the older man had to swallow the bitterness that crept into his throat. Putting his hand out to where he knew he had placed the accursed vial of modified Polyjuice Potion, Severus straightened slowly when he realized the vial was gone. A wave of anger surged through him; the brat had taken the vial to ensure that it was taken before the bonding, as if Severus did not already know how the boy felt! Hurt tore through him at the thought that not even his soul mate could stand to see him in his true form, and blinding anger filled him. He stormed up the stairs, sweeping into the young Gryffindor’s room, stopping short when he saw the young man collapsed on the floor on his knees, doubled over, clutching his stomach.

“I do not know what game you thing you are playing, Potter, but I am having none of it!” the older man snarled, still riding the crest of his rage. “Where is the vial?” 

The emerald eyes were filled with pain as they struggled to focus on the angry face above him. Severus had stormed in in full Professor Snape mode, and Harry felt his heart stop when he realized that that his soul mate was determined to hide behind his alter ego even for the bonding of their souls. Another wave of nausea hit him as the cramping redoubled its intensity; pain seared through his body, a shadowy remembrance of Voldemort’s possession in the Ministry of Magic. Harry had no strength for subterfuge, and met the enraged onyx eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he managed to croak, as he rocked back and forth over his knees, his arms wrapped around his abdomen, “I just wanted you tonight, Severus, not Devon. It isn’t Devon that I… care about.”

The older man’s response was lost in another wave of gut-wrenching pain, and Harry knew he was almost finished, as that could only be the last _Crucio_ cast by the big blond Death Eater on the lawn of Hogwarts the night Dumbledore had died. Hands helped him to his feet and supported him, cradling him against a well-defined chest.

“Harry?”

Dragging his head up, the teen reluctantly met the obsidian eyes, scared that he would see at best anger, and at worst, rejection; instead, there was a mixture of hope and… could it be elation? His heart stuttered before beginning to pound in his chest, and he allowed all the emotion he was feeling to show in his own eyes. There was a sharp intake of breath, and then Harry was crushed against a hard chest and kissed fiercely. For a moment, Harry returned the kiss enthusiastically, resting his hands on the answering pounding of the Potion master’s heart. Suddenly, a familiar feeling settled into his abdomen, and Harry pushed past the Slytherin, diving for the bathroom.

Severus Snape sat heavily on the edge of the bed, contemplating the last of the dying rays of the late evening sun as they filtered through the uncovered window. The boy - no, the young man - wanted _him_. Not the softer, more palatable Polyjuiced version, but the nasty, sarcastic, greasy git of a Potions master who had been such a bastard to him. His mouth curved up in a gentle, amazed smile, something long absent from his thin lips.

hpsshpsshpss

A hand stroked through his hair in a comforting gesture, and Harry smiled, curling his own hand under the surprisingly well-muscled thigh his head was pillowed on. His body finally seemed to have emptied itself of any and all waste matter it had been harboring, solid, liquid, and magical. It had taken nearly half an hour for his stomach and intestines to stop spasming, and Harry seriously hoped he never had to go through another ‘cleansing’ ever again. Severus had been oddly silent when Harry had staggered out of the bathroom; they hadn’t spoken as he helped Harry back to the bed and prepared him a lukewarm cup of sweet tea to settle his stomach. With a little urging, Harry had told him about all the magic that had been used against him, most of which seemed to come as a bit of a shock to the older man. 

He sighed. Turning his face down until he made contact with the thin, silky cloth warmed by Severus’ skin, he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the material. The hand carding through his hair tightened and tugged his mouth away, and Harry rolled over on his back to meet the obsidian eyes.

“Time for your shower, I think, Mister Potter. We only have another hour before we will need to begin preparations for the bonding ceremony.”

Harry smiled and scooted to the end of the bed, where he stood, swaying momentarily as the blood rushed from his head. A strong arm banded around his waist and half-supported, half-carried him to the bathroom. There, the Potions master stripped Harry of his shorts with clinical detachment before turning the water on and propping him against the wall. To Harry’s wide-eyed amazement, the Slytherin stripped off his own clothing. Feeling his cheeks heat and his cock twitch with interest, Harry let his eyes sweep from the well-defined chest with its patch of silky dark hair between flat pink nipples, down over the flat stomach and the long, slender legs. There were scars spaced out along the pale skin, but fewer than the teenager would have imagined, given what he knew of Severus’ childhood and adolescence. His eyes bounced back up to the flaccid penis, laying against a toned thigh, as with everything about this man, it too was long and lean, with a well-developed testicle sac behind it. A sparse nest of black curls decorated the base, and Harry could feel his fingers itch with the desire to stroke a finger along the satiny-looking skin. 

As he continued his scrutiny, the lovely organ twitched, but before he could reach it, gentle hands turned him and pushed him under the spray. Sure fingers washed his back and down his arse with a soaped flannel, and Harry widened his stance to allow the hands better access, trying not to moan as he was scrubbed thoroughly. Instead of turning him around, the Potions master pulled him against his body, reaching around Harry to work on scrubbing his arms and chest. Wiggling about, Harry brushed against a hardening length, and sighed as he managed to nestle back against it.

“You will be the death of me, Potter,” Severus’ voice was husky, the sound of silk pulled across a stubbled chin. “How am I to complete the bonding if you keep squirming against me in blatant invitation?”

Confident hands washed his torso, then down each of his thighs in turn. By the time they reached his groin, Harry was achingly hard and throbbing; he groaned as he was carefully washed, fingers running through the sparse hair, and down to cup his balls, washing him gently. A hand stroked the length of him once, as the other hand washed behind his sac and across his entrance. The sensation was too much, and he came with a cry. After a chuckle in Harry’s ear, Severus washed the semen and soap off of him. A bottle of shampoo was thrust into Harry’s hands and he was pushed under the spray again. He watched as Severus, a mere blur to his uncorrected vision, washed himself, then he washed and rinsed the foam out of his hair. Stepping aside, he handed the bottle to the Potions master. As the older man washed his own hair, Harry watched the pattern of sudsy water sluicing down the front of him, flowing around the erect flesh.

Sliding to his knees, Harry looked up to meet the glittering dark eyes. “May I just touch it?”

The dark head nodded brusquely, and Severus’ chest heaved as he attempted to breathe. With trembling fingers, Harry reached out and gently cupped the sac, weighing it gingerly in one hand before lifting his other hand toward the hard cock. Trailing fingers up the length from the base, he brushed his thumb over the leaking tip, and a hand fisted in his hair.

“Harry, please…”

The plea got through to him better than anything else would have. He wasn’t sure if Severus was pleading with him to continue or stop, but Harry knew the bonding was more important that giving in to the desire that thrummed through him. Bracing himself against the warm thighs in front of him, Harry stood and pressed a kiss to the wet chest. Looking down, he smiled as he aligned their bodies, sliding a hand between them to compare their lengths.

A wicked grin on his face, Harry looked up, devilment clear in his eyes. “See, you may be longer, but I am bigger around.”

It might have even come across as cheeky, if not for the breathless quality of his voice. Severus hauled him close and kissed him fiercely before extracting himself from the caressing fingers. Severus pushed him out of the shower with a growl, and Harry grabbed a towel to dry himself off, willing his wayward body to behave itself. He draped the towel around his waist, then handed a dry one to the taller man as he stepped out before retreating into the bedroom. Tugging on a clean pair of shorts, Harry turned his mind to the serious business at hand.

With a fresh pot of tea, the two men moved downstairs and began to review the Latin chants they would need to bond their magic together with the _Virgo Connubialis Vinculum_ spell. The main binding incantation would be done by Severus in the absence of another witness, with Harry choosing the _redimio pectus pectoris quod animus ut unus_ chant as his bonding phrase, wanting Severus to know that this was as much about his heart as it was about his soul. Surprisingly, the Slytherin seemed to agree, choosing for himself the chant that vowed to bind their love for life. The minutes ticked down as they practiced, their wands lying together on the small table between the chairs. The Floo had been sealed, and a ward was put in place to divert the owls that usually brought Harry his gifts at midnight up to his bedroom.

Fawkes trilled encouragingly as Severus transfigured his chair into a wide bench with a cushioning charm over the leather upholstery. Watching nervously, Harry glanced at the portrait of Albus Dumbledore, who had been silent since they had moved into the sitting room. As the hands of the clock approached midnight, he found himself growing more and more anxious, worried that something would go wrong, or that at the last minute the older man would come to his senses and reject him. Severus, on the other hand, appeared calm and self-assured, his eyes flicking over the Latin words on the parchment in front of him as he calmly sipped at his tea. Harry examined his hands, rubbing a fingertip over the scar on the back of his right hand. I must not tell lies. 

“It is time.”

The quietly spoken words sent an electric charge through him, and Harry looked up to meet the onyx eyes. Taking a deep breath, Harry stepped out of his shorts, picked his wand up from the table, and moved to stand in front of the Slytherin, who was now naked as well. Severus leaned down and brushed his lips over Harry’s, before stepping back, his own wand in hand. As the clock struck the midnight hour, the two men joined right hands, allowing their wands to touch, and Severus began to chant the incantation that would bind their souls for life. Fawkes swooped low over their heads, circling around them as a familiar golden ribbon of light materialized between the two humans, with the ends in the phoenix’s beak. As they joined left hands as well, a ribbon of brilliant white light joined the gold, pulsing between them.

Leading the younger man to the bench and drawing him down on it, Severus flicked his wand over Harry one last time, before setting it out of the way. Harry did the same to Severus, mimicking his motions. Leaning down to kiss the Gryffindor fiercely, Severus began to chant the bonding verse that he had chosen. Stepping over the bench so he straddled it, Severus picked up the vial of fragrant oil he had placed there earlier and coated his fingers. Harry watched him for a moment before taking the vial from him. With sure fingers, the Slytherin began to prepare the now seventeen-year-old wizard, echoing Harry’s hiss of breath when Harry’s cautious fingers penetrated him.

The younger man learned quickly, Severus thought, as those questing fingers brushed against his prostate, sending a jolt of sensation through him. Crooking his fingers, he returned the favor, smiling as Harry jumped beneath him. It was harder and harder to concentrate on the Latin he was chanting. Pulling his fingers free, Severus grasped Harry’s erection and slowly sank down, impaling himself. As he took the full length inside of him, awareness hit him in a rush. He could feel the cock that filled him, but he could also feel the tight heat that surrounded it, too. Sensations rolled through him like waves, and Severus was overwhelmed by the tightening of two sets of balls as his sweet spot was stroked by his rocking motion. He felt Harry’s climax, then felt the hot seed fill him, and spat the chant out one last time as he came without a touch over Harry’s stomach.

The overload of sensation had almost overwhelmed Harry, and he panted as he felt Severus slowly ease off of him. A warm flannel cleaned his now flaccid penis as the silent man moved over him again. Taking a deep breath, Harry looked up and met the incredible dark eyes as he began to chant his own binding verse. Slender fingers stroked his face, trailing down his throat to trace over his chest, stopping long enough to tweak and pluck at his flat nipples. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Harry heard a satin voice promising to make proper love to him as soon as they recovered from the ceremony, and he smiled as he began to repeat the verse. His cock began to respond to the tingle of magic as the stroking fingers dipped lower. Bringing his hands up, Harry began caressing Severus’ chest, mimicking his movements until a hand reached between them and cradled his balls, gently rolling and tugging on them. 

Magic fingers stroked him, teasing his sensitive flesh, and his breath caught as he felt Severus grasp his legs and push them up. The silky voice of the Potions master speaking in elegant Latin joined his frantic muttering as he felt the head of that long cock nudge against him and push. Harry felt burning pain; he bore down as he had been instructed to, willing his flesh to relax. Slowly the burning eased, and Severus slid in further as the bond came back in full force, letting Harry feel his own body as well as the older man’s. Groaning out the Latin phrase, Harry pushed back. The sensation of being filled, claiming and being claimed, roared through him, the intensity threatening to engulf him once again. Gold and white ribbons of light pulsated around them. Fawkes was still flying in slow circles over them when Harry felt Severus fill him completely. Easing back slowly and then thrusting forward, Severus hit the spot that sent a jolt of electricity through him. Harry tried to concentrate on his chant; his magic was beginning to swirl around them, and an answering magic began to intermix as Severus lost his tight hold on his own. 

Harry could feel Severus speed up, could feel the delicious friction between them, the jolts of sensation driving him toward the edge again, and he came again with Severus’ name on his lips. He barely felt his bond-mate’s surprise when Severus climaxed again, filling him with his seed. The mingled semen on his abdomen heated, and the swirling bands of bright iridescent white and gold closed tight around them, both ends flying from Fawkes’ grasp to land in the pool on his belly. Instantly everything was absorbed into Harry’s skin. Knowing Severus barely had the strength to move, Harry helped him shift so that he could lower his legs, then grabbed his wand to transfigure the bench into a wide couch. He coaxed the Potions master down beside him. 

For several moments the only sound in the room was their harsh breathing; both men struggled to rein in their raw magic and calm their heaving chests. Harry could not tell where he started and Severus ended. The bonding had worked to the deepest levels, and all the barriers both had struggled to erect had dissolved. Without having the specific memories, he knew everything that had happened to Severus Snape, every good memory and every bad one, including the horrific ones of what he had put up with at both Voldemort’s hands and those of his own father and the other Marauders. Tears slid silently down his face as he experienced the depths of this man’s love for his mentor and the agony Severus had suffered by being the instrument of his death. By the stiffening of the arms that held him, Harry knew Severus was experiencing a similar journey of discovery, learning for the first time the truth of his childhood, and about the battles with the Dark Lord. 

Bringing a hand up to the head that rested on his chest, Harry stroked Severus’ face gently, knowing that no words were necessary. A warm glow now occupied a portion of his heart, and another presence hovered in the recesses of his mind; Harry now knew he would never be alone again, never have to endure the devastating loneliness he had felt in the past. He pressed a kiss to the soft, silky hair.

“Happy birthday, my Harry.”


	24. Birthday Plans

* * *

A warm hand gently stroked his cheek, its fingertips lodging in the curtain of hair that fell forward to cover his jaw. Severus shifted, his head falling back to encourage the explorations of the soft lips now trailing down his throat. He felt the thrill of the delight that went through his bond-mate and smiled, still caught in the strange transition between sleep and wakefulness. The sensations of being both giver and receiver warred inside him; bring him fully awake as reality reassured itself. 

He was bound to Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, for life, by his own choice, for the good of the wizarding world, and hopefully, each other. A tendril of apprehension curled in his stomach at the feeling of being owned, of having another powerful wizard master, only to have the feeling dispelled and replaced with tentative feelings of warm affection that served to keep the ever-present anguish at bay. It was disconcerting to read the single-minded thoughts flowing through his randy young husband, and Severus decided even as he arched into the lips that trailed across his skin that they had to erect some barriers before this duality drove him insane. A hum of power flowed through him, and he could feel its source deep within his husband’s chest, immensely strong and pure. Severus was surprised he could not see the threads of it behind his closed eyelids, and wondered how Harry could live with it everyday.

“It’s new,” Harry told him quietly as he kissed his way down the slope of a shoulder, marveling at the feelings he was experiencing. “It was there when I woke up, flowing under my skin like blood. It rather prickles in an odd sort of way, sort of like my raw magic does.”

His lover snorted, but Harry smiled as he felt the awe Severus was experiencing; they were in this together now, and simply knowing that made his task easier and less daunting than it had been when he was dealing with things alone. His lips latched onto a nipple, and he touched the hardening nub with his tongue before suckling it gently, feeling the arousal shoot through Severus. They groaned at the same time.

“Gods, this is going to kill me, it’s so intense!” he muttered as his lips skimmed over to repeat the action on the other nipple, causing the older man to arch up.

Unfettered, Harry continued his exploration down the too thin chest, pressing kisses to each of the exposed ribs, while his tongue was determined to taste every inch of the man. Knowledge acquired through their new bond directed him to the most sensitive areas of the Potions master’s body, drawing moans and expletives from him as Harry worked his way down. Burying his nose in the crisp curls at the base of the very interested penis, he blew gently, learning the scent, taste and texture. Using the tip of his tongue, Harry traced the vein on the underside of the nicely proportioned cock, then swiped at the wet tip. Pushing the foreskin down gently, Harry groaned as he slipped his mouth over the head, and took as much of the warm flesh into his mouth as he could manage. It took only a handful of strokes before Severus arched up, filling his mouth with slightly bitter fluid, and the shared sensations of his bond mate’s climax stimulated Harry’s own.

Pulled back up to lie across the Potions master’s chest, Harry panted, still overwhelmed by the sensory overload. A hand stroked through his unruly hair, calming him with the repetitive motion, and he felt the effort Severus was making to bring his body under control. A gentle smile curved Harry’s lips as he felt the emotions that swirled within his soul mate, knowing finally that he was loved. Severus snorted, but he was unable to hide his delight in the unconditional love he found as well, and no words were necessary between the two. Harry found himself shifted, pushed into a sitting position on the wide couch, a conjured blanket covering them. Through the sitting room window, he could see the bright glow on the horizon, which told him it was almost dawn.

Settling back against Severus’ chest as the older man silently directed him to do, Harry folded his hands in his lap to keep them to himself. 

“We must be able to separate what we are feeling in order to function,” the Potions master told him quietly, his hands at his side. “Close your eyes and try to envision a translucent barrier between our thoughts, like a window or curtain that can block the mundane thoughts, but will still allow us to freely communicate.”

Visualizing the space in his mind that contained his mental trunk, Harry found the imaginary room cluttered with the memories he had received from Severus. Methodically, he began to gather them up, but more just came through the bond, a window-sized hole in the wall he had built to seal his mind. Dropping the memories, he moved toward the opening in the bond, where he watched as a glass-like window appeared in Severus’ side, and concentrated on installing his own. It was easier than he had anticipated, and as he fitted the last edge in place, the memories seemed to shuffle themselves, sliding neatly into his trunk. Making sure the rest of his mind was clear, Harry eased out of his meditation and opened his eyes slowly.

Although he was still sitting propped up against the older man’s chest, Harry was piercingly aware of a renewed sense of isolation, and a wave of longing swept through him. Instantly, strong arms came around him, and he could feel the shadowy presence again at the edge of his consciousness.

_‘I will always be with you now, Harry, as you will be with me. It is imperative that you remember that, and in turn, be as unobtrusive as possible, especially when I am summoned. It would prove disastrous if the Dark Lord sensed your presence in my mind.’_

The deep voice caressed his mind as it spoke, and Harry concentrated on answering. _‘I can feel you now, tucked into the corner of my mind.’_

_‘And you are a warm spot in mine, my Harry. Now, we must get up and test this magic I feel running through us.’_

Nodding, Harry slipped out of Severus’ arms and stood, arching his back to stretch it. The couch had been comfortable enough, but he preferred his bed. The taller man mirrored his motions as he stood, and with a flick of his wand put the sitting room back to rights. Dressed in his silk sleeping pants, the Potions master silently handed Harry his shorts.

“I would mourn the loss of such exquisiteness should a spell go astray, Harry.”

With a blush, Harry slipped them on before silently summoning his wand. The magic he could feel humming through him had at least stopped prickling, but he could tell it was there, flowing throughout his body just under his skin. Turning toward the fireplace, he searched for something to levitate, only to have a pillow soar over his shoulder and land on the floor. Throwing a smile at Severus, Harry raised his wand and proceeded to swish and flick with his nonverbal spelling. The pillow shot up and slammed into the ceiling before falling to the floor with a _plop_.

“Uh,” He stared dumbly at the floor before glancing up, his cheeks glowing. 

Severus snorted indelicately and moved to stand beside him. With careful instruction, they went back to basics, starting with the first year class work of verbal levitation. It took a number of tries before Harry managed to get a handle on the amount of magic he was channeling through his wand. To the teenager, his magic seemed have a different feel to it, more powerful, yet more grounded, not as wild and haphazard as it had been in the past. It was control that Harry needed to work on, and the pillow took the brunt of his adaptation. Both men found their wandless abilities greatly enhanced individually, much to Harry’s delight. Beckoning the younger man to him, Severus turned him around, and brought Harry back against his chest.

“Your magic has definitely increased since we bound ourselves last night, as has mine. Let us see what we can do if we combine our magic as we did in the Chamber of Secrets, but attempting the same spell simultaneously.”

Harry had to pull his mind from the distraction of magic tingling across his skin where his skin met the warm, firm flesh behind him. Concentrating on the pillow, he extended his wand arm; Severus’ came up alongside his, brushing against him, and their wands aligned. Harry felt the window opening in his mind and knew when to push a minute amount of magic through his wand, mirroring Severus’ action. The pillow disintegrated in a cloud of fabric and feathers.

“Bloody hell!” they both muttered, and Harry was content to let Severus cast the Reparo charm as he slumped back against the firm chest.

“Perhaps if we were not in physical contact.” The Potions master stepped an arm’s length away. “Let us try it again, shall we?”

It took several attempts before the pillow survived the levitation spell intact, and Harry grinned triumphantly when they finally were able to float it in the air reasonably gently. With shared determination, the two continued to cast simple charms and spells until it felt comfortable to do them together. The sun was shining brightly outside by the time the pair had achieved this goal, and Severus called a halt to the practice.

“We still need to test our ability to share our power, but for now I believe breakfast is in order. Then we should clean up before we Floo to Godric’s Hollow to meet the others.”

Nodding, Harry moved toward the kitchen as he felt Severus move away from him. A lingering sadness at the edge of the bond puzzled him, and the teenager realized that the emotion seemed to be ever present in his new bond mate. Watching the tall man move gracefully toward the covered tray that Dobby had no doubt left while they were practicing in the other room, Harry delved a little deeper and found the gray-shaded area that settled over the emotional bonds emanating from Severus, and he mentally reached a finger out to stroke over the color. 

A feeling he was well familiar with washed over him, an emotion that had dogged him since he was old enough to realize his lot in life, resignation. This was blended in equal parts with grief and despair; it was not enough to overwhelm as it had Harry after Cedric and Sirius had died, but Harry recognized it just the same. Albus Dumbledore’s death had brought this feeling back in full force for the younger man. Severus set the tray of food on the table, and turned as Harry moved to slide his arms around the trim waist, his face finding its niche in the warm neck.

“I’m sorry, Severus,” Harry said simply, knowing that his emotions were as open as Severus’ had been to him.

The Slytherin stiffened fractionally before relaxing into the embrace. Over the years, the sadness that had become such a part of him had been relegated to the far reaches of his mind, a weakness he did not allow himself to indulge. The course of his life had been determined by his own decisions, his good and very bad choices, and he had decided years before not to spend energy bemoaning his fate. It had seemed over the years that he was destined to always be alone, and upon occasion he had permitted an evening of Ogden’s finest whilst descending into misery. The gentle touches of this young man, physical as well as emotional, so full of love that he could instantly banish the blackness to the corners of both Severus’ heart and soul, had already started to heal him.

Gathering his new mate to him tightly, Severus drew a deep breath before pressing a kiss into the soft raven hair. Albus had told him repeatedly over the past six years that he and Harry had much in common, but he had scoffed, too busy hating the bullying git of a father to see the quiet fire in the son. Perhaps, Severus thought, the doubts that he had harbored about their chances in the forth-coming battle were premature. Love was Harry’s greatest power, according to his mentor, and the older wizard was beginning to see exactly what that meant, and that very thought chased the last of the chill from his body.

“Come, my Chosen One, I believe that demented house-elf of yours has left all your favorites.” He threaded a hand into the longish hair at the back of Harry’s head and tilted his face up for a slow kiss. “I can not have you weak from hunger, now can I?”

hpsshpsshpss

It was nearing noon when the two Flooed from Dumbledore House to Godric’s Hollow, where the little family of house-elves stood formally in a line to receive their ‘Master’, with Dobby bobbing up and down on one foot at the far end. After greeting each of them, Harry was surprised when they bowed low to Severus, welcoming him into the house as Harry’s bond mate. Harry smiled broadly at them, once again amazed by the magical abilities of the diminutive creatures. Nerel, Piat, and Tinky were all dressed in immaculate tea towels with the Potter crest, and Dobby was in his usual brightly colored ensemble whose colors always seemed to clash horribly. 

Harry had talked the Potions master into retaining his natural appearance, leaving the small vial of golden Polyjuice tucked into the pocket of the close-fitting black trousers. A soft cream pullover completed his outfit, and Harry had stopped to admire the sleek lines and taut curves, ignoring the snort of amusement it had earned him. He had chosen black jeans and an emerald green shirt for himself, and it had been interesting to see himself through another’s eyes as he tapped into Severus’ impressions. They each packed a small bag, knowing it would spark Hermione’s curiosity if they had shared one, and Harry now allowed Nerel to take them up to the adjoining rooms they would share at the opposite end of the house from Ron and Hermione. 

They had time before the others arrived, Harry realized. He had argued in favor of Apparating into the house, an idea quickly vetoed by Severus, who pointed out that the protective fields around the property would not allow him entry. 

“Severus, what do we need to do to change the wards so you can Apparate in?” 

It was a complicated spell, entirely in Latin, which Harry hated as he had never been allowed to learn it, but he was the only one who could change the way the protections were set on the house and property. With patience his Gryffindor students would never have attributed to the ex-Potions professor, Severus talked Harry through the incantations, and he was able to get it right on the second try. Severus Apparated to the dirt lane just outside the wards and then back to the library just as the fireplace in the sitting room flared green, announcing the arrival of Hermione and Ron. Exhilarated at their accomplishment, Harry hurried down the hallway to greet them, stopping in the doorway at the sight of a pile of presents and envelopes sitting on the low table in front of the couch.

“It seems the owls have caught up with you, Mister Potter,” came an amused voice from behind him.

Ron and Hermione looked better than they had two nights before, Harry thought as he enfolded the witch in his arms and hugged her hard. There were shadows he had never seen before in the depths of her eyes, and Harry wanted nothing more than to banish them. Pulling back, he smoothed the hair back from her face, taking in the evidence of a couple sleepless nights.

“Are you all right, Hermione?”

“Yes, Harry,” she said, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek. “Still trying to get the thoughts of the other night out of my mind, is all.”

“In other words,” Ron said as he stepped forward to embrace them both, “she’s been having nightmares to rival yours, mate. Happy birthday, by the way, Harry.”

Harry relinquished his grasp on the witch as Ron pulled away, Hermione still in his arms. The tall redhead looked pale himself, but he smiled as he looked over his friend’s shoulder.

“Hello, Professor.”

Severus moved to stand just behind Harry, and nodded at the greeting, his eyes on Hermione’s face. “I have some Dreamless Sleep in my bag if you’d like some, Hermione. You appear to be in need of an undisturbed night’s sleep.”

Hermione smiled. “I look that bad, huh? Never mind, I don’t need an answer, but I will gladly accept the potion, Severus.”

He nodded, sensing the worry Harry was feeling as Piat came in to announce that lunch was ready. Following a step behind the trio by his own choice, Severus sat down next to his bond mate, feeling the brush of intelligent hazel eyes several times over the course of the meal. The talk was deliberately kept light, away from any of topic that might cause distress for anyone. The food was excellent, fresh fruits and vegetables complementing a pasta and pesto dish, with a crisp white wine to complete the ensemble. The bread and the noodles were fresh and home made, the entire meal simple yet delicious. Dobby’s hand became apparent in the rich chocolate pudding that had everyone sighing in delight.

Influenced, he was sure, by the happy feeling leaking into the bond, Severus was smiling when he looked up to see an astonished look on Weasley’s face. With a smirk, he turned back to listen as Harry and Hermione discussed the ability of the house-elves to detect magical objects. The abilities of the diminutive creatures were shrouded in myth, and most in the magical community seemed to ignore them in favor of their well-known loyalty and desire to serve. Yet, there was powerful magic at work, especially when one adored the family to which they were bound, like Nerel and his family, who spent fifteen years maintaining the house and property while waiting for Harry to mature, or Dobby, whose rabid love of the teenager both alarmed and reassured Severus.

Watching the interplay between the friends, he was struck again by the maturing of he had witnessed in the three of them over the course of the past few years. Harry’s change had started during his fourth year, with everything he had gone through during the TriWizard Tournament. Whatever had been left of the teenager’s innocence had been lost in a single night that concluded in death and rebirth in a decrepit graveyard, ripped from him by the same monster that had destroyed his family and his childhood. Hermione had matured along with him, and she had been his only comfort for a long time. Weasley had taken longer to mature, grasping the seriousness of his best friend’s situation towards the end of their fifth year, but regressing emotionally at the start of the year just past. It had taken the death of Albus Dumbledore and the quest to destroy the Horcruxes to bring Ron to adulthood, and to realize just what kind of sacrifices had to be made.

“I spoke to Bill about the Heirloom vault at Gringotts,” Ron told them as the conversation turned toward the search. “He said it was not information that the goblins would normally tell anyone but an heir, but that he will see if he can make some inquiries.”

Harry could feel the dark eyes resting on his face, and he looked up to smile at the older man, knowing that even though he was listening, the older man was also pondering something. Tinky popped into existence at his elbow.

“Is you and your guest requiring anything else, Master Harry?” 

“No, thank you, Tinky, and lunch was wonderful!” he told her, and the house-elf glowed under his praise. “May I ask you a question, Tinky?”

“Yes, Master Harry?” Tilting her head, Tinky gave him her complete attention. 

“Do you remember telling us about the evil magic that was left on the property by the Dark Lord?” He waited for her nod. “Can you ‘feel’ other magical objects as well? I ask because I believe there might have been something else left down by the cottage the night my parents died.”

“I is able to feel powerful magic, Master Harry, but I has not been near there since Miss Lily and Master James is dying,” 

“Will you go out with me this afternoon, Tinky?” Harry asked quietly. “I will be there with you, to make sure everything is all right.”

“Yes, Master Harry,” Tinky told him, despite the nervous wringing of her hands, before disappearing with a _pop_.

“Harry,” Ron leaned across the table towards him, “if all house-elves can sense magic like Tinky, then why can’t we just get them to help us find the locket?”

“It seems to be a skill related to the proximity of the magical object, Ronald,” Severus pointed out as he drained the last of his wine and carefully set the crystal back down on the table. “Add to that the ability to differentiate between different types of Dark magic. Tinky and Nerel may be two of just a handful of house-elves who have been exposed to this particular Dark artifact.”

“Dobby might know, too,” Harry ignored the puzzled look on his best mate’s face, “having served the Malfoy family when Lucius had the diary!”

“Indeed,” the Potions master said thoughtfully, “that might be a way to proceed with the search, although it will prove difficult to delve into the Muggle areas with a house-elf in tow.”

“Which reminds me,” Harry said grimly. “Kreacher!”

With a loud _crack_ the old wrinkled house-elf appeared, clothed in his filthy rags, the shovel-like snout pressed to the floor as he bowed. “Unworthy Potter brat summoned Kreacher, the filthy half-blood…”

Harry ignored the foul-mouthed creature’s words, cutting across the tirade loudly. “Kreacher, I want you to find Mundungus Fletcher and follow him. Do not let him out of your sight, and do not speak him or anyone else for that matter, just as you did with Malfoy. You are to report to Dobby regularly, do you understand?”

The bloodshot eyes stared at him in complete loathing, and the house-elf bowed once me. “Kreacher is understanding the Potter brat, the filthy son of a blood traitor and a mud…”

“Enough!” Harry roared, not about to put up with the foul mouth spewing its venom any more than he had to. “Get to work now!”

With another loud _crack_ Kreacher was gone, and Harry sucked in a deep breath, trying to control the anger that had flared in him. A large hand settled on his thigh, giving him a point to focus on as he settled his emotions and his magic. 

“Nasty piece of work, that,” Ron muttered, shaking his head.

hpsshpsshpss

Not wanting to take any chances of being seen, Severus applied several glamours to change his hair color and the shape of his face before they ventured outside. The warm sunshine was a welcome change from the days of cold mist that they had had in such abundance lately. Harry had summoned Dobby to accompany them, and quietly explained to the excitable little creature why he had sent Kreacher to watch Mundungus Fletcher. Tears welled in the large green eyes, and he rushed to reassure Dobby that he had a more important task for him, ignoring the snort his soul mate made from beside him. In the end, Dobby was smiling brightly and proclaiming Harry a great wizard, much to the teenager’s chagrin and the amusement of the others. It was a relief when he disappeared with a _crack_ to check on the other houses.

It took fifteen minutes for Tinky, a look of sadness on her face, to work through the ruins of the cottage. Finally she indicated a spot along the inside edge of the foundation wall that stood closest to the dirt lane. It was a corner that had accumulated a pile of wind-swept debris over the years, and Harry transfigured a small rake out of a twig as he knelt in the dirt. Carefully, he raked through the leaves and clumps of dirt, uncovering a circle half a meter in diameter without finding anything. Severus stood over him, his back to the proceedings, keeping a vigil as his eyes scanned the area around them. Hermione joined Harry as he brushed the dirt with his hand, a feeling of disappointment welling up in him. Tinky danced from foot to foot silently, in a perfect imitation of Dobby.

A shimmer of magic at the periphery of his senses caught his attention, and Harry closed his eyes, allowing the magic to pull at him. It was old magic he sensed, but not particularly Dark, and his fingers followed the pull, scrambling in the hard-packed dirt at the base of the crumbling stone wall. A lump of dirt came apart in his hand, and Hermione’s gasp caused his eyes to open. In his hand lay a tarnished, dirt-encrusted silver object that he could not readily identify. Harry could feel the faint tingle of magic in it, but knew it had never contained a Horcrux. A shaft of disappointment arrowed through him, and he just stared at it. A hand reached down, and Severus helped him to his feet as Hermione lifted the artifact from his palm.

“It’s a thimble,” she said, gently rubbing at the dirt.

At Harry’s blank look, she huffed. “You use it when sewing by hand, Harry.”

With the roll of his eyes, Harry took the thimble back, and peered at it intently, before handing it off to Tinky to clean. He brushed off his pants and tried to clean the dirt out from under his fingers as they made their way back to the house. Ron and Hermione were ahead of them, when he felt Severus reach out to him and draw him to his side. 

_‘It is enough that we found the missing artifact, and were able to determine that it was not used as a Horcrux,’_ Severus told him, keeping his arm around Harry’s waist as they walked.

_‘I know, it just would have put us that much closer to ending this bloody war, if it had been one. I guess I am just disappointed.’_

Severus pulled him to a stop as they stepped into the house and, ignoring Ron’s incredulous stare, wrapped him in an embrace. Pressing a kiss to his mate’s temple, the obsidian eyes met disbelieving blue ones as he held Harry. He answered the question he could see in them as he cupped the back of the raven head, and was answered with a hesitant nod of acknowledgement. This young man meant the world to him, and Severus wanted his best friend to understand that.

 _‘Well, at least he didn’t faint,’_ Harry snickered. 

It felt anticlimactic, even as they all examined the ornately scrawled ‘RR’ etched inside the gleaming silver later that evening. Dinner had been served, and afterwards Harry led the others into the library, where Ravenclaw’s thimble sat in the case next to Gryffindor’s dagger. Ron and Hermione shared the couch, and Harry sat on the rug in front of the fireplace to open his birthday gifts, leaning against the chair Severus sat in as he did so. Harry smiled as he saw the usual sweets and WWW products, rock cakes from Hagrid, and a book called _Advanced Defense Techniques_ from Hermione. Opening the last gift, its Slytherin green wrapping paper announcing its giver, Harry gasped as he saw a golden medallion the size of a galleon, the likeness of Fawkes etched on the surface in fire and gold. He picked it up with a trembling hand.

“Thank you, Severus,” Harry breathed. He watched the image spread its feathers and preen as the metal warmed in his hand.

Severus leaned down and took the golden chain, fastening it around Harry’s neck carefully. “It has a tracking spell and protection spells on it, and is an emergency portkey as well. Just set the code word and it will take you directly to me when activated.”

Harry looked up and hissed _‘Severus’_ in Parseltongue, delighted to see the desire flame in the onyx depths of his mate’s eyes.

hpsshpsshpss

Severus kept his promise that night, slowly mapping Harry’s body with his lips as he made slow love to his soul mate. His flesh on fire with desire, skin tingling with their magic, Harry was helpless as the intense feelings swept him higher than he ever knew he could go. By the time Severus sank into his welcoming heat, Harry had reached one pinnacle and was reaching for the next, stroke by stroke. He was sobbing with the intensity of the emotional and the physical pleasure when he felt Severus thrust one last time and felt the flood of warm seed, causing him to convulse in ecstasy. Safe in the strong embrace of the man he now knew he loved, Harry slipped into a deep sleep.

A burst of pain torn through his mind as a feeling of immense rage shot through the Occlumency barriers he had erected, and Harry gasped as an image exploded through him. As swiftly as it had struck, the raging hatred and image of scarlet eyes faded, and Harry came back to himself. He lay covered in sweat and his breath coming in gasps. Rolling to the side, he buried his face into Severus’ chest, knowing the other man had witnessed the same vision he had through their bond. Even though he knew there was no need, Harry felt driven to give voice to the dismay he was feeling, to make it seem real.

“He knows we are after the Horcruxes, Severus. He knows.” 

The arms tightened around him and there was no false reassurance from Severus Snape.

“I know, love.”

* * *


	25. Visions and apparations

* * *

Harry clung to the older man as the implications of the vision washed over both of them. Bellatrix Lestrange had somehow found Mundungus Fletcher, and Voldemort had discovered that the Slytherin locket had been removed from its hiding place in the cave on the coast. The vision had been short and intense, the pain ripping through his mind as the force of the rage had broken through the Occlumency barriers on both sides. The fit of rage Voldemort had felt over someone tampering with his Horcrux had cost Fletcher his life, as the familiar green spell light had been the last thing he remembered.

His head still pounding, Harry eased away from the warmth of the older man whose obsidian eyes watched him with concern. He stood and pulled on his jeans, the medallion around his neck swaying as he moved, before leaning down to press a desperate kiss to Severus’ lips.

“Whether the bastard believes Sirius or Regulus managed to get through that lake of Inferi, or that somehow it was Dumbledore, you are sure to be summoned, Severus— you are the one who had contact with them all.” 

Severus had to admit the younger man was correct, and he sat up, his eyes following Harry’s movements around the bedroom. When he held out his arms, the younger man returned to the bed with fresh clothing for him, carefully laying the clothes on the bed before stepping into Severus’ embrace. They held each other tightly for several minutes.

“It could go very badly, Harry, but I do not believe I am in any immediate danger. The Dark Lord is likely to believe that I was ignorant of Albus’ plans, and that I was assisting Regulus in some way, perhaps unintentionally. I will do what I need to appease him for the moment, especially now that Fletcher is dead.” 

Harry nodded, his face buried in the fragrant curtain of his husband’s hair. He remained in that position, allowing the heat generated by their bodies to chase away the cold that had seeped into him as the ramifications of the vision hit. If Voldemort became aware that they were actively seeking his Horcruxes, there was nothing to prevent him from attempting to make more. Irrelevantly, the thought occurred to Harry that there could precious little left of the soul Tom Riddle had started with still residing in his resurrected form in the first place, if he had already split his soul into seven pieces.

Harry could feel apprehension filtering through their double barriers, and knew that Severus had to feel his fear as well. There was nothing they could do but play their roles and try to adjust their plans to accommodate anything the evil wizard could come up with. They needed make another trip down to the Chamber of Secrets to look for a spell that would ensure Tom Riddle died with the corporeal body of Voldemort. There were potions laboratories and classrooms to put together at Hogwarts as well. He only hoped that they would be able to accomplish these tasks before school started. 

A slight burning sensation on his left forearm signaled that the Dark Lord was summoning his bond-mate, and with a final, desperate kiss, Severus stood. Without speaking, Harry watched as he summoned his clothing, traded Dumbledore’s wand for his own, and pulled a vial of dark fluid from his bag. After downing the foul potion, Severus was transformed into a man with mousey brown hair and hazel eyes. He kissed Harry one more time before stepping into the Floo to begin the journey to the Dark Lord’s side. The emerald flames died slowly, and Harry knew there would be no more sleep for him.

hpsshpsshpss

Nerel greeted Harry quietly as he, now showered and dressed in a pullover and jeans, entered the library as the sun rose over the eastern horizon. A tray of scones and hot tea appeared on the table while Harry searched the shelves for any book that might help him. The Potter library certainly leaned to the Light, and it frustrated the young man greatly as he searched through the titles for anything that might aid him in killing Voldemort. The Dark nature of any book on souls or the manipulation of them precluded them from being present in this family library. The stray thought that had been recently rebounding into his mind struck him again, and Harry could not help but wonder for the thousandth time if Voldemort had given him more than just his powers that night in the cottage. Ignoring it, he continued his search

Eventually, Harry turned his thoughts away from the last Horcrux, and allowed his eyes to once more skim a shelf of what appeared to be old, worn books. _Protective Spells for Wizards’ Duels_ , read one title that caught his attention, and he pulled it down for a closer look. As he did, another tome tumbled off the shelf. Harry just managed to catch it before it hit the ground, and he almost dropped it again when a golden aura flared around it for a moment. Setting it down carefully on the table, he studied the title, _The Most Powerful Magic in the World: Love_. The title took Harry by surprise, and he sat down to read it.

Some time later, a tapping at the window startled him, and Harry was surprised to find over an hour had passed since he’d come downstairs. When he opened the window, a small tawny owl flew in with a thin parcel clutched tightly in his talons. It dropped the package on the table, flying off after taking the piece of scone Harry offered. The familiar handwriting of Remus Lupin made Harry smile, and after checking the parcel for any spells the way Hermione had taught him, he opened it.

> _Dear Harry,_
> 
> _Forgive the tardiness of this birthday greeting, but I have only gotten back tonight from my latest assignment. I certainly hope you enjoyed your birthday._
> 
> _This is traditionally a book that is given from father to son at his coming of age. I will have to ask that you forgive me for being forward, but I am sure that both James and Sirius would have made sure to follow the tradition, and so I do it in their stead._
> 
> _In answer to your last letter, I would be happy to meet you at the house tomorrow, as I know you have been staying there with Ron and Hermione this summer. Minerva mentioned the new Potions professor has also been staying there on and off as well, and I look forward to meeting him. Tonks would like to come with me as well, if that is all right with you?_
> 
> _Yours,_
> 
> _Remus_

Turning the slim, black, leather-bound book in his hand, Harry read the title, _Coming of Age: Wizard Traditions and Customs_. In the lower right hand corner, Harry saw his initials in gold pressed into the fine leather. He ran his finger over it absently. The part of his mind that had never quite gotten over the loss of his parents conjured the image of the James and Lily Potter from the Mirror of Erised, smiling at him and handing him the book, a proud look on their faces. 

“Hey, mate, you alright?” 

Ron’s voice brought Harry’s attention back to reality, and he looked up with a smile to see his friends standing in the doorway, hands clasped. He nodded at them, gesturing at the book in his hand.

“Remus sent me a book on wizarding traditions for my birthday, and he has agreed to show us how the Marauder’s Map works, so that we can expand it.”

“Expand it?” Hermione asked as she sat down beside him, a small frown creasing her forehead. “Where is Devon?” 

“Summoned,” he said tersely, his fingers tightening on the smooth leather before he forced himself to relax. “And yes, Sev—Devon had the idea to enlarge the map to cover the Chamber of Secrets and as much of the grounds as possible, so I owled Moony to ask if he would help.”

“Does that mean we will have to go back down into the Chamber, Harry?” Ron’s voice conveyed his anxiety at the thought.

“You will enjoy this trip, Ron,” Harry reassured him with a smile. “We have cleaned things up down there, and you never did get to the main Chamber or Slytherin’s inner sanctum. I am sure Hermione would kill to get a look at the library down there.”

The witch’s hazel eyes lit up at his words, and she nodded enthusiastically as her mouth was full of scone, something that didn’t stop Ron from speaking. 

“I’m not sure, Harry,” the redhead grumbled around a mouthful.

A wave of apprehension swept through Harry, and he stiffened as he tried to get an idea of what was going on without distracting Severus from whatever was happening. Silently he cursed that fact that the older wizard was still a spy. He immediately felt guilty, knowing that Severus felt his current position as the Dark Lord’s most trusted servant had been bought with not only the blood of Albus Dumbledore, but that of Draco and Narcissa Malfoy as well. A tendril of reassurance slid in through the bond, and Harry relaxed slightly. When he looked up, Hermione was watching him with narrowed eyes.

Summoning a sheet of parchment from the desk, along with a quill and ink well, Harry wrote a reply to Remus Lupin, confirming that they would meet him at Grimmauld Place the next afternoon. Nerel appeared as he was sealing the letter, and accepted the missive. Hedwig was safe at Hogwarts now, and Harry was not sure whether there were might still be post owls at Godric’s Hollow, but the dignified house-elf assured him there were. With a word of thanks, Harry turned back to his friends.

“How far did you get in the Black library, Hermione?”

The gleam in her hazel eyes warned him that he wasn’t going to distract their interest, but Hermione answered him. “Completely through it, Harry, started in one corner and worked all the way to the other. Surprisingly, there was little in the library itself that seemed to relate to that part of the Dark arts, really. As Devon said, there is very little available outside of the Ministry, and I would have to believe anything they have is down in the Department of Mysteries.”

Disappointment was a palpable thing and Harry sighed. “It just seems too weird that Regulus Black would know about Horcruxes, then?”

Hermione looked at him thoughtfully, as Ron finished up the last scone. “Do we know which room of the house was Regulus’? Any information might have been left in there, especially if Kreacher and that daft woman had ‘preserved’ his room after he died.”

“Would not surprise me,” Ron interjected, “that old woman was mental after all, completely nutters.”

“Then I think we need to head back to Grimmauld Place, and see if we can find it.”

hpsshpsshpss

The three friends Flooed back to Dumbledore House with their bags, which they left in the sitting room since they were undecided as to where they would be spending the night, and traveled on to Grimmauld Place. The kitchen they stepped into was a warm and welcoming place, and Harry was amazed at how the people living in the dark, dreary house seemed to have given it life. After exchanging greetings with Missus Weasley and the Grangers, the trio were off again to the Ministry of Magic for Ron’s and Harry’s Apparation tests. 

The Atrium was virtually empty when Harry stepped out onto the dark, polished floor. The golden gates at the far end seemed to be guarded by a dark-haired witch Harry took to be Auror, and the same slightly disheveled wizard he remembered from his first visit sat behind the security desk, reading what looked suspiciously like _The Quibbler_. The sound of flowing water made him glance at the elaborate statues that Fudge had rebuilt after they were destroyed the summer before in the battle with Voldemort. Harry looked at the centaur and could have sworn it winked at him.

“Harry?” 

Hermione was at his elbow, and Harry realized that she was perceptive enough to know that this trip would dredge up painful memories for all of them, but for him most of all. The scene that was burned into his mind played: Sirius, his laughing face going slack with shock as he fell back through the tattered veil. He shook it off forcefully, and managed a wan smile. They submitted their wands for scrutiny and moved to the lifts under the watchful eye of the Auror, whose eyes darted to Harry’s face before she offered them a smile as they passed her post. 

Following Ron’s lead since he seemed to know where he was going, they made their way to Level Six and the Apparation Test Center. There was a vaguely familiar teenaged girl being tested, and one other brown-haired boy in line in front them. He and Ron filled out their paperwork, paid their galleons, and waited patiently for their turn. Hermione stood nervously just inside the door, casting sharp glances at the threshold every time the door opened, and Harry understood that word would be spreading through the building that the Boy Who Lived was here. 

Both Harry and Ron passed without a problem and stood waiting impatiently as the Apparition licenses were made for them. Strong emotions continued to seep through the bond, and Harry was puzzled by the rapid transition through several unrelated feelings: remorse, determination, elation, and dread. Just as he tucked the license into his pocket, thanking the fawning middle-aged witch once again for her help, Harry heard Hermione gasp. Rufus Scrimgeour stood inside the doorway, leaning heavily on his walking stick, flanked by two large wizards who could only be Aurors, Percy Weasley just visible behind him. 

“Harry! What a pleasant surprise!”

Ron was right at his heels as Harry walked across the room to stand in front of the Minister of Magic, and did his best to keep his expression neutral. Taking a leaf out of Severus’ book, Harry arched an eyebrow and waited for the Minister to speak, as there was no way around him.

“We had thought you would still be at your relatives’ home, Harry, and went there yesterday to escort you back to London. What a surprise to have found you absent.”

Bristling at the accusatory tone of the Minister, Harry started to reply angrily, when a wave of concern sliced through him and the barriers separating him from Severus slipped. He was standing in the Ministry, but also on the lawn of number four, Privet Drive as a line of Death Eaters made their way up the front walkway. A blast sounded as the front door was blown open, and the black-robed figures ran inside. Staggering into Ron, who immediately wrapped a long arm around his waist to steady him, Harry closed his eyes tightly as he reconstructed his barrier. It appeared that Severus was along on the attack as a privilege, standing at Voldemort’s right hand as he watched from the sidewalk in front of the house, not lowering himself to set foot in a Muggle residence.

“Thank you for your kind thought, Minister, but it seems Voldemort somehow knew you would be there, and waited until now to make his own visit!”

 

Arthur Weasley and Kingsley Shacklebolt edged into the room as Harry spoke, taking in the situation at a glance. They separated and made their way around the Aurors casually, Kingsley stopping near the largest of the pair. 

“What are you talking about?” the minister spat at him, clearly irritated at Harry’s tone of voice.

“I told you before, Minister, that I did not need your protection, and yet you still insist that I accept it! Apparently there is a spy in your ranks; Voldemort was told you would be in Surrey on my birthday, and that is why he waited until right now to attack!” Harry struggled with his anger at the highhanded tactics, and could feel his magic starting to swirl around him. “Who is going to protect my aunt and uncle from that monster while you stand here looking bloody stupid?”

Ron tightened his grip as Hermione appeared on Harry’s other side, attempting to help him ground the raw magic swirling around him. Harry could tell by the widening of the Minister’s eyes that he had no concept as to the extent of Harry’s magical power, and a smirk twitched his lips.

“Are you going to send someone, or do I need to go face him…?”

“Shacklebolt, Larsen, get your squads to Surrey immediately! Report what you find directly to me!” Scrimgeour limped out after throwing a final shrewdly assessing look at Harry.

“Bloody hell,” Harry said quietly, watching as Percy scampered after the Minister like a lap dog deprived of its lap. “Didn’t mean to let him see that.”

Hermione stepped closer and enfolded him in an embrace. “Is Devon all right?” she whispered in his ear.

“Yes, I think so, but how…” Harry trailed off as Mister Weasley stepped toward them, beckoning them to follow him.

“We need to get you out of here before he can change his mind,” the older man muttered under his breath.

Harry stumbled against Ron as they moved, and the taller teen steadied him. “Is your scar hurting, Harry? Will you be able to Apparate or should we Floo back?”

Ron thought that Voldemort had sent him a vision, Harry realized, and quickly assured him that he was fine. An exchanged glance with Hermione reassured him, and they made their way down to the lift and back to the Atrium.

“Apparate to Diagon Alley and then on to the house,” Mister Weasley told them hurriedly, his eyes sweeping the room. “You can’t be tracked that way. Be careful.”

Closing his eyes, Harry envisioned the alleyway behind the Leaky Cauldron, and felt the squeeze and pull that characterized Apparition. They arrived within feet of each other and moved quickly through brick wall into a nearly deserted Diagon Alley before Apparating on to Grimmauld Place. Dropping down into a chair in at the kitchen table, Harry set his glasses down and rubbed his face with both hands. The smell of hot tea filtered into his nose, and he took several deep breaths and tried to make sense out of the images and information he had received.

The Dursleys should have left for their annual holiday the last week of July, as they had been planning for the entire year, the celebration of being free of his presence, so they should not be there to be tortured or murdered. He might not like his relatives very much, but he did not need the guilt of their deaths on his conscience. That would mean they had not been there when Scrimgeour’s Auror squads arrived on the previous day, which explained the Minister’s barely repressed anger. If Voldemort had known to wait a day, it pointed to a spy within the ranks of the upper echelons of the Ministry of Magic, but it also meant that he had not confided this to Severus for whatever reason. A warm hand rubbed his shoulders, and Hermione pressed a cup of tea into his hands when he looked up at her. 

“It seems that soul mate bonds are even deeper once the relationship is consummated,” she told him quietly, and Harry snorted in amusement but only nodded. 

It took summoning Kreacher from the kitchens of Hogwarts to find out which room had belonged to Sirius’ little brother. Harry was relieved to send the creature back to where the other house-elves could keep him in line, and as punishment for his failure to report that Fletcher had been killed that morning, Harry ordered Kreacher to bathe and clean the rags he wore as clothing. 

The house-elf was beside himself with fury as he winked out of sight. “Filthy half-blood excuse for a master telling Kreacher he is needing cleaning….” 

Several hours later, having gone through the room from top to bottom, the three were as filthy as the house-elf had been. Ron had almost been bitten by a hair clasp they found under the bed, and Hermione broke out in a purple rash before she figured out the counter curse to remove it from her curls, but there was nothing useful to be found, no personal papers or journals, only old school books on the bank of shelves that lined one small corner. Hermione cast several _Scourgify_ spells on the worst of the accumulated dust and dirt once they knew nothing would be damaged, and then a quick cleaning charm on each of them.

“I would assume from the expressions of dejection you have found nothing,” came a taunt from the doorway.

Harry stumbled to his feet and launched himself at the golden-haired, golden-eyed man in the doorway, not particularly caring if his friends witnessed the depth of his feelings. The man caught Harry and crushed him to his chest. The younger man could feel the fine tremble in the lean body, and knew that Severus had not escaped Voldemort’s fury. He tilted his face up, and was rewarded for his courage with a gentle kiss, even as he heard Ron’s gasp behind him, followed by the sound _thwack_ of flesh hitting flesh.

“Oh, grow up, Ronald!” Hermione’s voice was ice cold.

Devon Prince snorted at the interchange, even as he gazed down in to the relieved emerald eyes. He let a small smile play around his lips as he sought to relieve the worry he had been feeling through their connection, rubbing a hand up and down his mate’s back in a comforting gesture. The incident at the Ministry had played out in his mind when the barriers had dropped earlier, and he was proud of Harry’s restraint.

“They were not home, Harry, and the damage to the house was minimal. Little occurred before the Aurors arrived. The rapid response from the Ministry of Magic led the Dark Lord to believe there are undetectable alarm spells around the residence, which displeased him greatly. He is more anxious than ever to have Devon Prince befriend Harry Potter once the term begins.”

“Why did he curse you then?” Harry asked pulling away slightly.

“I had to show the proper amount of reluctance at the thought of wooing you,” he said with a smile. “And, of course, I had to be properly persuaded.”

“Ouch,” Ron grimaced, “sounds painful, mate.”

“Indeed,” Severus told him dryly. “Now, what are you doing in here?” 

“We thought Regulus might have left behind a journal or book or something about the other Horcruxes, so we came to look for it while we were waiting for you,” Harry told him quietly.

“But there isn’t anything in here of use,” Ron interjected, trying to brush the dust off his jeans. “We have looked everywhere in this room.”

With a snort, the Potions master shook his head. “Regulus Black was a young wizard schooled from birth on the fine arts of Dark magic and Slytherin tactics. Whatever he left here is well hidden.” 

Harry felt his shoulders slump, and he started to move away but was tugged back to lean against the older wizard. 

“You are the rightful owner of the house, Harry, and the recognized heir to the Black fortune. Try casting a revealing spell on the room, it should open any hidden spaces for you.”

Harry felt ridiculous, but did as Severus suggested and cast the spell. For a long moment, nothing happened, but then with an unearthly creak, a whole section of wall vanished and a large closet like storage area appeared, with stacks of parchment, journals, and books. They all looked at each other, the three teens amazed, and the golden-haired man smirked.

* * *


	26. Parseltongue Progreess

* * *

The hidden closet yielded a treasure trove of information about the activities of Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters at the height of his first rise to power, when the entire magical world cowered at his feet. It was the period of time when Severus had been mostly absent for the daily activities, studying for his mastery in London. There were quite a few pieces of parchment that had been spelled to appear blank, and many others that had Dark curses on them, and a stack of journals with handwriting that Harry recognized from the note left with the fake Horcrux. 

Carefully levitating everything out of the confined space and onto hastily conjured tables, the four of them carefully segregated the cursed items from those more benign before they personally handled a single piece of parchment. Severus - _Bloody hell, Devon!_ Harry thought - insisted they all wear protective gloves in the event that more than Dark magic had been cast on the pages. Delegating the skimming through of the information they decontaminated to Hermione, Harry stood shoulder to shoulder with Ron, following Devon’s instructions to the letter as they began to make their was through some of the more heavily protected items. Scattered amongst the loose pieces of parchment, Harry saw several ancient looking pieces that appeared to be written in the distinctive Parseltongue script, and could not help wondering if they had originally been in the Chamber of Secrets.

Reaching out, he silently laid a hand on the older wizard’s arm and pointed those items out. As Devon levitated them carefully closer, Harry glanced up and caught Ron’s eye. A slight flush colored the teen’s cheekbones, but the blue eye remained steady and warm as they met Harry’s, and a feeling of relief washed through him as he understood the acceptance he saw there. Flashing his best mate a heartfelt smile, Harry marveled and rejoiced that Ron could acknowledge what Severus had come to mean to Harry, even if he did not understand it entirely. There had been a few tense moments in Godric’s Hollow the day before, but Ron had relaxed as he watched the caring interaction between Harry and Severus.

In the guise and personality of Devon Prince, the Potions master watched the exchange between the two young men and felt the wave of feeling that seeped through the bond from Harry. His respect for the redhead rose as the three of them worked diligently to make the valuable information safe to handle, and both Gryffindors followed his careful instructions to the letter. Severus could feel the warmth in the feelings that radiated from Harry and was glad that he could bring some small measure of happiness to the young man, especially after the years of animosity he had treated him to. Despite Albus’ repeated attempts to tell him he was wrong in his assessment of James Potter’s son, it had been difficult to reconcile the pampered image in his mind with the reality of Harry’s life. The image of Vernon Dursley was now interchangeable with that of his own Muggle father, Tobias Snape, and he had at least not been forced to spend his childhood worked to the bone and locked in a cupboard.

“Sev—Devon!” Harry’s head shot up from the paper in front of him. “I think this one is about the soul!”

The emerald eyes were aglow with excitement, the cheeks suffused with warm color, and if Severus had not already succumbed, he would have fallen in love with the handsome, enthusiastic young man then. Tearing his eyes away from the enchanting smile, he glanced down at the crumbling piece of parchment that lay on surface of the table in front of Harry. It appeared to be one of the several faded pages that resembled the parchments they’d found in Salazar Slytherin’s study in the Chamber of Secrets. The squiggles on the paper made no sense to him, but he knew that Harry would be able to read them, as he had the other writings in the Chamber.

A silent apology for the slip with his name whispered through the bond, and Severus acknowledged it with a slight bow of his head. It was imperative that his disguise remain firmly in place from now on. There were too many plans in operation now for any slip of the tongue, and both knew it could cost Severus his life if his identity were revealed. With a silent sigh, he accepted the fact that Devon Prince would need to remain in Severus Snape’s place, if only to make it easier for this trio to remain in the right frame of mind. Harry’s Occlumency was incredibly strong, with Hermione’s a close second, and while the youngest Weasley son could be broken still, Severus knew he would die before endangering Harry. Even so, their charade would be easier if he retained one form for the duration.

Dinner turned out to be sandwiches and tea in one corner of the room as the group continued to sort through the parchments, journals, and other personal effects that had been sealed in the hidden enclosure for almost eighteen years. There was a small pile of letters stacked to one side, addressed to Regulus’ mother, Sirius, and Severus. Harry was astonished at the pain that flooded through the older man as he picked up the aged parchment after it was checked for Dark magic. An undercurrent of guilt told Harry that the older man still felt remorse for not listening to his teenage lover all those years ago. He fought down a spike of jealousy, soothed by the reassurance coming from the very bond that tied him to his soul mate.

Watching the golden-haired man’s back as he carried the letter out of the room, Harry straightened up the remaining piles, setting aside the Parseltongue parchments before casting several protective spells on them. Harry drew out the process, because he had felt the wave of sadness emanating from the Potions master, and he wanted to give him time to compose himself.

“Is Devon going to be all right, Harry?” Hermione asked quietly as she moved to help him secure the artifacts.

“Yes, I think so,” he replied as he met her eyes. “He and Regulus dated when they were at Hogwarts.”

Ron gaped at this news, but Hermione simply nodded in understanding, and then nailed her boyfriend with a well-placed elbow. Her frown of disapproval did not bode well for the teenager.

“Really, I said grow up, Ronald!” she snapped, before turning back to Harry.

Placing protective spells around the other stacks of paperwork, Harry carefully levitated the Slytherin papers behind him, as he told Ron and Hermione a quiet goodnight. The pair was staying at Grimmauld Place, while Harry knew that Devon has gone on through to Dumbledore house. He went down to the kitchens while he contemplated trying to get the ancient parchment back with him, without causing any damage to it. Hermione had followed him downstairs, and silently tucked them into a magical leather satchel she had retrieved from her room, before kissing him on the cheek and sending him through the Floo.

hpsshpsshpss

Severus sat in front of the unlit fireplace, staring blankly at the parchment clasped tightly in his hands, his mind lost in a sea of memories. A cognizant portion of his brain recognized the flare of green fire as the Floo activating, but he did not look up when Harry stumbled out, lost as he was in the melancholy of his thoughts and the guilt he was reliving. The letter in his hand was a poignant plea and a bit prophetic when read in hindsight; his young lover begged for his forgiveness for what he was about to do, urging Severus to seek out Albus Dumbledore for the protection the powerful wizard could give him from a man who was evil enough to want to rip his soul into pieces.

A myriad of what-ifs coursed through his mind as Severus thought of his own actions during that time period. He had left Hogwarts and gone to London to pursue his mastery in Potions. Regulus had moved with him to a small flat, and the money his mother provided allowed him to indulge his initial fascination with Lord Voldemort and his philosophy. Severus rarely saw him toward the end of their relationship; his studies, working for a Potions master to earn money, and answering the increasingly frequent summons of his master left him little time to indulge a lover with time on his hands. It did not surprise Severus when Regulus moved out without leaving a note, and he had been left alone to cope with the misery and hurt. That emotion had turned to anger and hardened his heart against any other relationship even before he had made the decision to seek the protection of Albus Dumbledore. He wondered briefly how his life might have turned out if he had spent more time with Regulus in those hectic days.

“About finished with this exercise in self-abuse, Snape?” Harry sneered.

Severus raised his head slowly and looked up at the teenager. His lips twitched. Harry did angry very effectively. He managed to do upset and even confused very well, but one thing was absolutely certain to him: Harry Potter just did not do sardonic. The sneer was bloody pathetic. Under his scrutiny, his lover’s lips were unable to hold the attempt to scowl at him, and a crooked half-smile emerged. Severus snorted.

“Stick to playing the Chosen One, Potter, it is more effective.”

His voice hitched at the end, destroying his illusion of calm control. The younger man stepped carefully toward him, wrapping his arms around his shoulders, and Severus allowed himself to be comforted. Sensing that Harry was unsure of how to provide something he had received so little of in his life, he leaned closer to the younger man and permitted him to stroke his back. They remained that way for several long minutes, the gentle hands moving over his shoulders and back before one cupped the back of his head, fingers massaging his scalp.

Silently, Harry urged the Potions master to his feet and guided his soul mate up to his bedroom. The older man allowed Harry to undress him and tuck him under the bedding before joining him. With a frown, Harry pressed himself against the slightly chilled flesh of the man he loved. 

“You did not fail him, Severus. He made a choice, and that choice took him on a solitary path, just as yours did when you chose to turn to Dumbledore.” 

“It is something that is hard to reconcile in my mind, as the memories I have of that time period have been necessarily edited to something that I was capable of living with. I certainly do not remember myself to be the noble and talented individual that his letter suggests.”

Harry smiled into the neck he was nuzzling as he spooned against Severus. “It sounds to me as if the letter was written by a man who was very much in love with you.”

The Polyjuiced hair was different in texture, coarser than the fine strands Harry had become used to. It even smelled different when he nuzzled through it to lick the sensitive spot below Severus’ ear. The older man shifted back against Harry as he moved one hand to stroke lightly over the smattering of hair that decorated the lightly muscled chest. A wave of arousal and need filtered through the bond, and Harry was a bit surprised when he realized that his mate wanted him to make love to him. He swallowed hard, only to have reassurance and trust flow over him.

With a deep breath, Harry summoned the vial of fragrant oil they had been using from Severus’ bag, then he gently rolled Severus onto his back. Positioning himself between the strong thighs, Harry leaned in to press his lips against the thin ones. Lean fingers framed his face as he was welcomed into the moist warmth and their tongues began a sensual dance. He stroked his fingers down the edge of the pectoral muscles, tracing the curves until he brushed against the flat pink nipples, and Severus arched up as he scraped a fingernail lightly across the sensitive buds. 

Pulling back, Harry sat back on his knees and opened the vial, coating his fingers liberally. Leaning up to press a kiss in the center of Severus’ chest, he used the tip of his tongue to trace across the warm expanse of flesh and latch onto a nipple. He stroked his index finger down across the entrance to his soul mate’s body before easing it slowly in to the warmth. Switching to the other nipple, Harry was delighted with the moan from above as he suckled strongly, slipping in a second finger. The groan of appreciation let him know he was managing to do it right, and the nervous twitch in his stomach eased a bit.

Moving to taste the skin of Severus’ belly, he then trailed down along the fine line of hair that arrowed toward a very interested erection. Planting a kiss on the leaking head, Harry used the tip of his tongue to spear into the slit as he scissored his fingers, brushing against the nub of tissue that drew a strangled cry from his mate. 

“Now, Harry, now!” Severus urged him, pulling away to roll over.

Harry moved back as Severus brought himself up on his hands and knees. Using the excess oil on his fingers, Harry gently rubbed it on his straining penis, the light touch alone causing him to hiss, before positioning himself behind the older man. Steadying himself against the lean hip, he guided himself with one hand until he nudged against the puckered opening. Severus gasped and pushed back, impaling himself, and Harry grasped both hips as if Severus were his lifeline, holding both of them still until he could gather his shattered control. The velvet heat surrounded him tightly, and Harry started to thrust gently, rotating his hips on each stroke as he had seen and felt Severus do, smiling as the man gasped at a brush against his prostate.

Closing his eyes, Harry concentrated on the waves of pleasure rolling through his bonded, amplifying his own as he increased his speed. Envisioning a curled green snake, Harry leaned down and pressed a kiss to the heated flesh, whispering in Parseltongue.

_“You are so hot and tight, Severus, you feel so good! I will make you forget there was ever anyone else, I swear!”_

The spike of arousal that enflamed Severus hit him, and the muscles clenched around him as his mate reached his peak, sending Harry spiraling. He thrust once, twice, and buried himself deep as he climaxed hard enough to take his breath away. Falling forward bonelessly, Harry just managed to roll to the side, taking Severus with him. Still feeling the tremors of his climax, he barely felt the wash of magic that indicated a cleansing charm. He was oblivious to the arms that enfolded him as Severus gathered him in his arms before succumbing to the pull of sleep himself.

hpsshpsshpss

Harry glanced up from the ancient parchment he has spread out over the desk in the alcove off of the sitting room. Fawkes was sitting comfortably on the arm of his chair. Severus, his features softened in the guise of Devon Prince, was studying a journal they also thought had belonged to Salazar Slytherin. The older man seemed to be his old self this morning, Harry thought affectionately; he had never been so glad to see a sneer as he had been when he loaded his tea with sugar at breakfast. He knew that a part of Severus’ life had been painfully pulled from its hidden cupboard last night, examined, and rearranged before being shoved back into its niche. It was reassuring to know that his Severus was back.

“Severus?” Harry called softly.

The golden head lifted and looked at him with an inquiring expression, warmth in the golden eyes.

“I think these are the wrong parchments,” he said, feeling a bit defeated.

The Potions master stood gracefully and moved to stand beside him, long fingers stroking the phoenix’s head. “What does it say?”

“This paper, as well as those over there,” Harry explained, gesturing to the stack of several pieces of parchment he had set to the side, “they are instructions and incantations for repairing a soul, not how to split it.” He leaned back, rubbing absently at his scar.

Slender fingers closed around his hand and tugged it gently from his forehead. “There is nothing in these that speaks to splitting the soul?”

“Well…” Harry shifted another parchment from the pile over to in lie in front of him, his finger running over the twisted green printing. “This section here describes the process that can be used to extract the soul from a living person and store it in a Horcrux. It sounds like it was the treatment used in ancient times if you were possessed by darkness or evil. It gives the incantations needed restore the soul to the body, and a spell to make sure the soul has been properly cleansed.”

A frown furrowed Severus’ forehead as he glanced over the documents, and Harry could feel the frustration in him. He slid his fingers through the warm hand that still rested by his side, squeezing them gently. 

“Which of these describes the method of extracting the soul?” 

Harry shifted the parchments again, and used his finger to trace out the section in question. “Here, there is the main incantation, but there was two other spells as well, and they are different, but only by a word or two.”

“How do they differ, exactly?”

“I am not sure, but when I read this to myself, they just sound a little different.” Harry hung his head. “I wish I had been able to study Latin when I was in primary school, Severus. I feel really stupid sometimes when I can’t figure things like this out!”

The golden eyes looked at him questioningly. “Are you saying that the incantations written here in Parseltongue are actually Latin?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

“Then we might be able to get the translation done and figure out what each of them is for. It may take a bit of work, but if we got to work on this as soon as we can, then we might be able to ascertain which is spell might be useful for us in out search.”

Harry nodded his agreement, but before he could make any comment, Dobby popped into the room to remind them that they were due at Grimmauld Place for lunch with Remus Lupin and Tonks. Before leaving, he handed Harry the Marauder’s Map, which he had retrieved. 

As he followed his soul mate upstairs to change into a nicer shirt and black jeans, Harry thought back over the conversation over breakfast. They had agreed that after the closeness they had inadvertently displayed in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place the night the Grangers were attacked, they should continue to behave as if they were in a dating relationship for the Order, and revert to acting as if they had just met when they went back to Hogwarts in four weeks. The Headmistress would be informed of their bonding, as she was already aware of the depth of their relationship, but Ron and Hermione the only others who would know everything. Harry knew this would be hard for him to pull off, as he was not as schooled as Severus in hiding his emotions.

Hermione was setting the table in the kitchen when they stepped out of the fireplace, and she greeted both warmly, surprising the older man with a quick hug. As Harry smothered a grin, Ron walked down the stairs, his mother at his heels. Submitting to her hugs and the inevitable attempt to smooth his hair, Harry was pleased when Molly Weasley greeted Devon warmly as well. The Grangers were the next down the stairs, and they would be spending the day in the house instead of their new office just outside Diagon Alley. They had converted one of the rooms off the drawing room into a small dentistry office. 

As he helped Hermione finish with the table, Harry realized he was a bit nervous. He had not seen the last of his father’s close friends since Dumbledore’s funeral, and even then they had not had much time for conversation. He suspected that Lupin had taken to heart what Tonks had said to him in the hospital wing to night the Headmaster had died, and this seemed to be confirmed when the witch stepped out of the fireplace with a small diamond ring adorning her left hand.

“Wotcher, Harry!” She greeted him with a hug as Remus stepped out behind her.

“Hello, Harry.” The former DADA teacher smiled at him warmly.

Harry stepped into a one armed hug. “Thank you, Remus, for the book. It meant more to me than I can tell you.”

The amber eyes were warm. “I remembered your frustration at not knowing the simple wizarding traditions that Ron and others had known since childhood.”

“Thank you,” Harry smiled, seeing Devon move toward him. “Have you met the newest member of the Order, Devon Prince?”

The amber eyes shifted to watch the golden-haired man join them, and Harry felt the tiniest smirk through the bond as the Potions master made eye contact with his former childhood nemesis. “Professor Prince, may I introduce Remus Lupin, former Hogwarts professor, and currently liaison to the werewolf community for the Order of the Phoenix. Remus, this is Professor Devon Prince, Headmistress McGonagall has hired him to take the Potions position at Hogwarts.”

“A pleasure, Professor Prince,” Remus said, the intelligent eyes taking in the hand that settled on Harry’s shoulder, and the way the younger man leaned into the man behind him. “I understand from Minerva McGonagall that you have been sharing rooms with Harry this last month.”

“Off and on, yes.” The golden eyes met the amber without flinching. “Harry has been helping me on several projects and I have, in turn, been tutoring him on potions and Latin.”

Harry felt himself bristling at the tone Remus was taking, only to have Severus soothe him through the bond, forcing him to recognize that the former Marauder truly cared about him. “Ron and Hermione have been with us almost all of the time as well, Remus, and Professor McGonagall has given us permission to be at Hogwarts.”

“Indeed I have, Mister Potter, but I understand that lunch is ready. Come along,” the Headmistress told them as she swept into the room, brushing the soot from her tartan robes.

The first awkward hurtle over, lunch passed swiftly as the group laughed and talked. Dobby had served them a hearty soup and crusty bread, a warm meal that staved off the persistent cold they all felt from the dreary mist falling outside. When they were done, everyone helped with the wash-up, clearing the table first so that Harry could lay out the Map. The others drifted off to their own activities, leaving Hermione, Tonks, Ron, Remus, Devon and Professor McGonagall gathered around the table with him. When Harry activated the Map, they all watched as Hogwarts’ outline appeared on the parchment. Remus began to explain how the four of them, James, Sirius, Peter and himself, had made the map their sixth year at Hogwarts, in the hopes of avoiding teachers and other students during their nocturnal activities. 

Harry’s eyes began to glaze over as the sandy-haired man started to list the various spells the Marauders had used in constructing the Map. Hermione was scribbling down each of the steps and the incantations that Remus remembered them using, and Devon was standing beside her, helping her keep track. Tonks’ head bobbed at one point as she struggled to stay awake, and Harry glanced over to catch Ron’s eye with a grin. 

“Harry?” Hermione was sending him a glare, undoubtedly for not paying attention. “The first time you saw Peter Pettigrew’s name on the map, was he in rat form? And you saw Crabbe and Goyle on it last year, even when they were under the influence of the Polyjuice Potion, right?”

“Yes,” Harry answered without hesitation.

The realization hit him like a Bludger, and his head whipped around to stare at Devon. The Marauder’s Map would identify the golden-eyed man as Severus Snape. In his moment of panic, Harry pushed through the barriers and was in Severus’ mind before he realized it, looking down at the string of Latin incantations Hermione had written on the parchment in front of them. Devon had stiffened and looked at him across the table, and Harry could feel the reassurance that his lover was sending him. Sending back a wave of pure joy, Harry grinned. 

_‘I think I have solved the problem of an accurate translation of the Parseltongue parchments, as I am reading the Latin that you and Hermione are, and I understand every word!’_

An eyebrow arched. _‘The bond allows me to read and understand Parseltongue?’  
_  
‘It is letting me read Latin.’

A smile twitched at the corner of the older man’s lips, and he did a credible imitation of Ronald Weasley. _‘Wicked.’_

* * *


	27. Research and Suspicions

* * *

It was mid-afternoon before their guests left and the four of them were able to go back up to Regulus’ room. Severus moved immediately to the pile of loose parchment where they had found the other documents written in Parseltongue and began to carefully go through each piece. He could barely contain the delight he had felt when Harry realized that the bond had made it possible for them to share their unique talents. The teenager was antsy as well, wanting to get back to the House to get started on reading the papers together. Something told him that there had to be additional documents, as there was a gap in the information that Harry had already gone through: he had every step in the process except how to split the soul intentionally. It was imperative that they find all of the information before they decided on their course of action. 

Wordlessly, Harry walked over with a smile, and placed a leather-bound book on the table beside him. “It looks like some kind of diary, and it appears to be written during the last six months before Regulus disappeared.”

Severus nodded, grateful to his younger mate for his sensitivity to his feelings. He smiled at the small bit of jealousy he felt from Harry, making a mental note to show the teen just how mistaken he was. Turning back to the stack of documents, he continued to sort through them, and was almost to the bottom of the stack when he found another parchment written in Parseltongue. He put that with the diary and finished going through the stack, moving to another pile when that one was done. 

Over the next hour, he discovered just one other page written in the snake language, this one in a different hand than the ones that they had attributed to Salazar Slytherin. With a feeling of apprehension, he called Harry to him and silently held out the parchment.

“Voldemort,” Harry looked at him, amazed. “Regulus stole Voldemort’s own plans from him. This looks like the directions to each of the Horcruxes.”

Severus gingerly took it back, and added it to the small pile they would be taking with them. “We will go over these tonight.”

Hermione looked up, frustration evident in the set of her face. “Most of this is just school books and things Regulus saved from his years in Hogwarts. Did you find anything in those piles, Devon?”

“Yes, we found another two pages of Parseltongue writing, which we think might hold the key to the mystery.”

“Well, can’t Harry just translate them?” Ron asked as he moved to join them from the far corner of the hidden closet.

“No, these are better deciphered at the House.” He exchanged a meaningful look with the witch. “We would be happy for you to join us.”

hpsshpsshpss

The four of them Flooed back to Dumbledore House later that afternoon for dinner, where both the portrait of Albus Dumbledore and Fawkes greeted them happily. Carrying the spelled parchment carefully to the desk in the alcove, Harry set them down with the utmost care, drawing the pages out one by one. The journal he set to the side, knowing that Severus would want to read that in private. Rejoining the others, who were still talking to the portrait of the Headmaster, Harry was surprised when Devon looped an arm around his waist, but he readily accepted the affection and leaned into the warmth offered. Dumbledore excused himself suddenly, disappearing out of the frame before returning almost immediately.

“Harry, Devon, Minerva would like to come through, if that is all right?” Dumbledore asked softly.

“Of course, Albus,” Devon answered for them both. The group moved to sit in front of the fireplace as it flared green.

Minerva McGonagall stepped out gracefully, brushing soot from her green and blue tartan robes. A rare smile lit her face as she caught sight of the two couples.

“Oh good, you are all here.”

Dobby chose that moment to appear with a _crack_. “Dobby is having dinner ready in the kitchen, Harry Potter!”

Harry stifled a laugh at the touch of disapproval in the house-elf’s tone, as if they were purposely not already at the table to eat. “Thank you, Dobby, we are coming right now.”

With a nod and another _crack_ , the diminutive creature was gone. They all filed into the kitchen to find the table set for five. The scents emitted by a fragrant bowl of tender pasta in a garlic wine sauce, salad, and crusty bread made Harry’s stomach rumble as he seated himself between Devon and Hermione. There was little conversation as the group dug in to the delicious food, the long afternoon’s activities having worked up an appetite in all of them.

“Remus Lupin paid me a visit this afternoon,” the Headmistress said casually as she dabbed as her lips with a napkin.

“Indeed,” Devon said softly, his eyebrow arching in a very Snape-like mannerism. “What, pray tell, was concerning our resident werewolf?”

“Devon, mind your manners!” the witch admonished mildly, hiding a smile. “He is simply concerned; he thought Harry seemed overly familiar with you when you were at Grimmauld Place. I reminded him that Harry is of age, and is free to be friends with whomever he chooses.” 

Professor McGonagall dipped her head, looking over her wire-rimmed spectacles in a gesture eerily reminiscent of Albus Dumbledore. “I will warn you that Remus was convinced that your scent was familiar, Devon, but he could not remember ever meeting you, and was therefore curious about your past. I told him I vouched for your references and felt Albus would have as well. I believe I satisfied him in that he does not believe you are a threat to Harry, but I would not be surprised if you come under further scrutiny.”

Harry felt a momentary jolt of panic at the thought of Remus spreading his suspicions to Tonks or Kingsley, and his stomach started to churn. A warm hand covered his and he turned to meet the golden eyes.

_'Calm down, love, we will deal with any ramifications as they arise; it would not do to panic before it happens. Just remember, nothing will ever separate us, Harry.’_

Harry dipped his head in agreement and glanced up into the shrewd brown eyes of Hermione Granger, who frowned as she watched him in silence. Their eyes locked for a moment, and Harry had to tear his away, wondering if she had also learned Legilimency on her own.

“Albus did have words with Remus while he was there, telling him what actually happened that night at the top of the Astronomy Tower, and asking Remus to swear that he would look into finding the proof he needed to prove Severus Snape had been acting under Albus’ orders,” the Headmistress went on to tell them.

“Minerva,” Devon objected, “that is not exactly the way to deflect Lupin’s interest from Harry and me, I shouldn’t think.”

“Actually, it is a brilliant way to divert him,” Hermione interjected, her eyes never leaving Harry’s face. “Sort of like hiding you in plain sight.”

The older witch nodded as she savored the butterscotch pudding she was eating. “One of the things Albus asked Remus to do what was write and ask Harry for the Pensieve he left to you, to prove Severus had not murdered him.” 

Harry exchanged a glance at his soul mate. “Do you think he will, Professor?”

Minerva McGonagall glanced at him; her dark eyes twinkled at him, but the light in her eyes did not disguise an assessing look that seemed to mirror Hermione’s. “I told him that one man had already sacrificed most of his life with a false accusation of murder, I did not want another member of the Order to suffer what Sirius had.”

Both Harry and Devon flinched as one at the thought, and Hermione sprang to her feet.

“You bonded, didn’t you?” she accused as she glared first at Harry and then Devon, and then back at Harry. “How could you do that without telling us?”

“My apologies for having disappointed you, Miss Granger, but the bond we used was not one which necessitated witnesses,” Devon told her dryly.

“Hermione…” 

Whatever Harry was going to say was cut off when Ron finally realized what Devon’s words had meant, and ended up inhaling part of the chocolate biscuit he had been stuffing into his mouth. Rolling her eyes, his girlfriend pounded him on the back without ever taking her accusing eyes off of Harry’s slightly flushed face.

“Well?” she spat at him. Ron tried to squirm out from under her hand, which continued to thump his back.

“Hermione,” Harry said quietly, his own eyes intense with the emotions he was feeling, “I am sorry. We had planned to tell you tonight actually, as you two and Professor McGonagall will be the only ones who can know. It would not be safe for Dev—Severus or me if that information somehow made it back to Voldemort.” He had to struggle not to drop his eyes. “And it puts you in even more danger than you already are, just for being my best friends.”

The brown eyes softened, and her hand finally stopped beating Ron into the table. “Oh, Harry, this isn’t a burden, it is a joy to know that you have found a bit of happiness in the midst of this hellish situation. Between searching for the Horcruxes, dealing with that bloody prophecy, and Scrimgeour trying to force you to be the figurehead for the Ministry, it is a miracle you have not already caved under the pressure.”

Moving around the table, she pulled Harry up and hugged him tightly before leaning down to throw an arm around the startled Potions master’s neck, hugging him briefly as well. She straightened and, with an affectionate hand, brushed his fringe back from his eyes.

“Both Ron and I,” she stressed the redhead’s name as she shot him a glare and he had the good grace to nod his flushed face, “are happy for both of you.”

 

“I, too, am pleased that both of you have found happiness in each other,” Minerva McGonagall patted her arm as she stood up. “I have no objections to this relationship continuing at Hogwarts; I only ask that you do so with discretion.”

“That may not be as easy as you might think, Minerva.” Devon stood as well, his arm sliding around Harry’s waist. “I have been directed to attempt to seduce the Chosen One as part of my ‘assignment’ for the Dark Lord.”

The lips normally set in a stern line twitched upwards, and the Headmistress gave up the battle, laughing merrily. “I never imagined you to be a romantic person, Devon, and I look forward to watching, even with you in this incarnation!”

Harry watched as Devon tried to pull off a Snapeish glare, and laughed along with his former head of House when the golden-haired man failed miserably. Bidding them good night with a snicker, Professor McGonagall disappeared through the fireplace while Hermione spelled the kitchen clean. 

Returning to the sitting room, Devon did not even bother to pull Dumbledore’s wand, lighting a blazing fire with a wave of his hand. Harry followed him to the desk in the alcove. Ron slumped into a corner of the sofa, still looking a bit shell-shocked, Harry thought, wondering if his friend was more stunned by the step they had taken or the choice he had made.

Devon settled at the desk with quill and parchment, taking the chair for himself while Harry stood to his left with Hermione beside him, watching anxiously. Brushing a strand of golden hair back from his soul mate’s cheek, Harry opened his ‘window’ as the older man lowered his side of the barrier. Thoughts not his own, tinged with vulnerability, flooded into his mind, threatening to overwhelm him, and Harry struggled for a moment to sort through it all.

Remembering that they were in essence two halves of one whole, Harry relaxed slowly and let the thoughts flow over him instead of trying to fight them. The gray edge he had encountered when the pair had been newly bound seemed to have retreated to a fine edge along the periphery of the older man’s emotions, and had been replaced by a warm, golden glow of love. Happiness warmed him, and an errant image of the raven-haired Severus standing over him as Harry sank to his knees and wrapped his lips around his very erect penis flashed through him, earning him a very real whack on the arse.

_‘Pay attention, Mister Potter!’_

Carefully retrieving the top sheet of ancient parchment, Harry glanced at the serpent coiled around a sword and a wand, Salazar Slytherin’s personal crest, before dropping down to the neatly written words:

> _**Repair and Regeneration of Soul Damage**   
>  When a wizard is subjected to instances of Darkness or necessary acts of violence, damage may occur to the souls of even the strongest of them, which can lead to extreme difficulties if not immediately reversed… casting of Dark spells or curses, even when the intent is pure, can cause thinning in weakened areas of the soul and lead to actual tearing if the actions continue… most at risk are those who act in the capacity of Warriors, charged with the protection of others and the enforcement of wizarding law… in order to repair the damage and reunite fragments that have separated from the soul, the wizard who has the strongest magic needs to cast the **Animus Restituo Spell** …_

The first document as well as the next two in the stack went over in great detail the ways that a soul could be fragmented and the best way to identify the extent of the damage. The description of the spell itself indicated that a very powerful wizard could reunite scattered fragments and replace those pieces that had been torn away. There was a preparatory spell that summoned any pieces of soul that might have been left on a field of battle, to be used to bring all the pieces to one place so that the soul could be reunited and reformed, even if this was against the wishes of the affected wizard. 

It appeared that Slytherin had been dealing with wizards returning from battle where they had killed and maimed their enemies. Such men returned changed, as Slytherin’s eldest son Ayden had. The young man, barely out of his teens, had apparently tried to commit suicide after his first exposure to the horrors of war; Ayden had not been able to get over the deaths he had caused, which Slytherin attributed to damage to his soul. He had then begun to search for a way to repair the damage and make his son whole again.

Devon and Harry dutifully translated the Parseltongue and the precise wording of the Latin in the spells he listed on the parchment. It became obvious to them that this was an act of fatherly love, not the actions of a madman looking for immortality. There was no mention of intentionally splitting one’s soul, nor of the method used to create a Horcrux, which Hermione helpfully pointed out, stating the obvious, even as she scanned over what they had written on the parchment. She ignored the glare she received from the Potions master, who muttered darkly as he double-checked what he had written.

“It is possible,” Harry said quietly, not wanting to distract his mate, “that there are more documents left in Slytherin’s study down in the Chamber. We have no idea how Regulus Black got these, or where any other documents that were in Voldemort possession when he was defeated the first time might have been stored.”

“Aren’t we supposed to being going down there anyway?” Ron spoke up from the sofa for the first time since they had started. “I mean, don't we need to make sure that the outside door to the Chamber is warded and secure? Especially if He-Who--I mean, V-Voldemort decides he wants to check and see if the Horcrux he left there is still safe.”

Both Devon and Harry’s heads nodded in unison, eliciting a groan from Hermione, who Harry could tell had figured out they were using their bond to translate the document. 

“Yes, we do need to make a trip back to Hogwarts for that and other reasons. I must erase the residue of Horace Slughorn from my classroom,” Devon told them with a sneer. 

“We can use that as a cover to return to the Chamber, as there are now others in residence at the school now, including the Auror squad assigned not only as protection, but whose members will be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts this year.”

“Wicked!” Ron proclaimed, forgetting who had been their last professor in that class. 

Harry snorted at the thoughts that ran through his mate’s mind. Severus did seem to have a blind spot when it came to his teaching methods, and Harry purposely directed the conversation away from the problematic subject.

“You both need to see the Head Boy’s and Girl’s rooms as well, Hermione, and I know that you have been anxious to get a look at Slytherin’s study!” The witch immediately agreed, smiling as Ron yawned widely from his position on the couch.

“It would also be consistent with the story we are trying to manufacture,” Devon said as he rose from his chair and stretched his tired back. “I could use the Floo in the morning, and you lot can Apparate to Hogsmeade. We can then ‘meet’ in the corridor and begin from there.”

“What about Remus Lupin and Kingsley Shacklebolt, who have already met you and know we have started a relationship?” Harry asked quietly, knowing it was his fault after clinging to the older man that night of the attack on the Grangers.

Moving to stand beside his bond mate, the Potions master slid an arm around him. “That could prove to be problematic. While I do not expect any member of the Order to relay that information to the Dark Lord, I do realize that there are spies everywhere. Perhaps we should stick with the story we alluded to that night and with Lupin the other day. You have been staying at the house that Albus left you since you came of age, and were gracious enough to have allowed me a room until such time as I was able to move to Hogwarts.”

“It still puts you in danger if Voldemort finds out even that much, Severus. You have spent this entire summer acting like you had no idea where I was!” Harry’s agitation mingled with a feeling of panic at something happening to his mate.

“Perhaps we will be able to take those closest to us into our confidence soon, Harry. In the meantime, we will just have to be very careful,” the Polyjuiced man said quietly, pulling Harry into a comforting embrace.

Harry felt another hand rest on his shoulder even before Ron spoke from beside him. “We will do what we need to, mate, to keep Devon safe, and to keep you safe as well.”

“It is late,” Hermione said softly. “Let’s get some sleep, and things will look better in the morning.” 

There was no dissention, and both couples made their way up to the bedrooms on the upper floor arm and arm.

hpsshpsshpss

The three teenagers Apparated to Hogsmeade the next morning, each with a bag of belongings slung over their shoulders, making sure other pedestrians on the main street noticed them. Making their way unhurriedly up the path to the castle, they timed it so that they met the Headmistress and the new Potions professor just coming down from her office, and exchanged greetings. To the discerning observer, it was apparent that the group knew each other, but no more than casually. The groups parted company immediately. The trio of teenagers headed up to the fifth floor, where they would spend much of their time in the coming year. Both Ron and Hermione were thrilled with the suite of rooms, and Hermione chose the bedroom closest to the kitchen. 

Going into the bedroom near the fireplace, Harry unpacked the school uniforms, Quidditch equipment, and books he had brought with him. Putting the things away in the wardrobe, he studied the room, which was alight from the sunshine coming through the high windows, illuminating the clean, plain beige décor. With a wave of his wand, he transfigured the four-poster into a lighter oak wood, adding cream and dark blue bedding. The chair beside the bed became black leather, and the rug on the floor altered to appear cream and navy, with emerald accent lines. Satisfied that the room would be more comfortable, he spared a thought for where he and Devon would actually be sleeping, here or in the Potions master’s chambers in the dungeons. The question brought a smile to his face, and Harry decided he needed to go discuss it with his bond mate before he did any further redecorating.

When he stepped out into the common area again, he found his best friends locked in a heated embrace. 

“I’ll be down in the dungeons when you two come up for air.” He threw the remark over his shoulder cheekily as he moved toward the door.

hpsshpsshpss

Devon Prince stood in the doorway of the Potions classroom that had been his for sixteen years. He swore he could still smell the stench of Horace Slughorn. Even during his years as a student, when Slughorn had been his Head of House as well as his Potions professor, Severus Snape had loathed the man. The fat sloth had never had a real life, living vicariously through a succession of successful students, supported by their accomplishments and not his own. The mere thought of slimy character at work in his precious classroom and laboratory had turned his stomach. Without the ego normally associated with accomplishment, Severus had started Hogwarts knowing he was gifted in his ability with potions, having been school in secret almost from birth. His mother, Eileen Prince Snape, had taught him from her own Hogwarts textbook, the textbook that Harry had used the previous year.

No recognition of his aptitude had ever come from Professor Slughorn, and Severus had certainly never been on of Slughorn’s favorites, never a member of the vaunted _Slug Club_. When Lily Evans became a person of interest to the loathsome creature, it had been in part because of the tutoring Severus had given her, further destroying the teenager’s illusions. It had been in part Slughorn’s ignoring of his talent that had made him so susceptible to Lucius Malfoy’s praise, and later, the charms of Lord Voldemort.

Severus had been disgusted when Albus had told him he was trying to talk Slughorn out of retirement, despite their need of a skilled person to teach Potions. With their plans already in place and the cursed Defense Against the Dark Art’s finally his for the one year allotment the Headmaster had always refused in the past, there was not much of a choice, especially when they needed the man for his memories of a young Tom Riddle. 

It was not even that Horace Slughorn lacked ability, having proved in the past that he was an excellent brewer; it was the fact that he rode to whatever fame he achieved on the backs of others. Tom Riddle had been one of his most outstanding students, but Slughorn had turned his back on the young man when he refused to be funneled into the Ministry job that Slughorn had hand-picked for him. As the Dark Lord had gotten more powerful and more evil, Slughorn had gone to the extent of attempting to erase his own memories in order to distance himself from his former protégé. The lack of intestinal fortitude displayed by the other Slytherin had disgusted Severus even further, especially after he had been able to recognize his own youthful mistakes and tried to atone for them.

Closing his eyes briefly, he drew on the new power he had received from the bond with Harry, and with a wave of his hand, cast a strong _Scourgify_ over the entire classroom and its contents. The wave of magic passed over him, making his own skin tingle as he stepped into the room to cast the same spell over the workstations and student stores. He would need a more delicate spell to cleanse the main potion stores, because there were ingredients there that could be damaged by strong magic. The Polyjuiced man waved his hand again, polishing everything in the room to a high gleam and paused to admire his work.

“Well, that was certainly impressive, Professor Prince,” a neutral voice stated from behind him.

Turning slowly, Devon Prince found Remus Lupin lounging in the doorway.

* * *


	28. Hurtful Truths

* * *

Lupin’s amber eyes darted from the gleaming classroom to the golden-eyed man as he straightened from his position near the door. Watching warily, Devon did his best not to stiffen into a defensive posture as the werewolf drew nearer. There was a gleam of something in the shrewd eyes, and Devon knew the man’s intelligence was augmented by the wolf’s senses, which grew stronger as the full moon pulled at him.

“Minerva told me I could find you here, Professor. I hope I am not interrupting?” There was no regret on the scarred face as Lupin held out a hand in a friendly gesture.

Concentrating on doing this right, Devon stepped forward and shook the hand extended toward him. “Not at all, Mister Lupin, I was just cleaning up a bit here. How is it that I can help you?”

“The previous Potions master was a brilliant brewer, and provided me with a rather complex potion that I need, Professor,” Lupin said a in a friendly voice.

The purist in him gaped at the werewolf. “You think Horace Slughorn was brilliant?”

“No, Professor, the last master who taught here was Severus Snape,” the other man said softly, watching for his reaction, “and despite the crime he is accused of, he was brilliant at potions.”

Hearing this from his one-time nemesis took Severus aback. He could not fathom what Lupin might have discovered in just the past day, but he was aware of the amber eyes watching every reaction. 

“In the two months since Severus last brewed the Wolfsbane Potion for me, I have received the potion by anonymous owl each month just before the full moon. No matter how much gratitude that generosity provokes, it is not a dependable source of a something so vital in my life. My question, Professor Prince, is whether or not I can prevail on you to brew the Wolfsbane for me and young Bill Weasley?” Lupin cocked his head, his shrewd eyes on Devon’s face. “It is a potion that few, even with a Mastery in their field, can brew correctly.”

The wheels turned rapidly as Devon wondered just how to answer. It was true, he had continued to brew the Wolfsbane Potion at Spinner’s End these past two months, and even now had a cauldron aging for the approaching moon cycle. But what was the point of Remus Lupin relaying all this information to Devon Prince? Why did he not simply ask for the potion to be brewed, unless…. Severus’ heart began to pound, and he glanced up at the other man.

“I am sufficiently skilled, Mister Lupin, to provide the potion for you and your friend monthly. I am sure it would please Harry if I did so.”

Remus Lupin stepped closure, his nostrils flaring slightly. “Yes, Harry does seem to be important to you, Professor Prince, and I can smell his scent on you. Your scent seems very familiar as well, although weak, as if it were masked by something—”

“Remus, is this really necessary?”

Both men looked up as Harry spoke from the doorway. A grin split the former professor’s face as he took in the younger man , and Devon Prince’s face softened without conscious thought as he caught sight of his bond mate. The younger man moved towards him determinedly, his whole demeanor defensive. 

“Hello, Harry.” Remus Lupin smiled warmly as he greeted the teenager.

Devon watched in silence as Harry swept by the werewolf and that man’s nostrils flared; he knew what the enhanced senses were detecting. The emerald eyes spit fire as they met the golden, and Harry grasped his hand, entwining their fingers before he turned to face his father’s old friend.

“I am surprised that you would come here to berate Devon, Remus. I am of age, and I can see whomever I chose.” His tone was harsh and touched with defiance.

The smile faded from Lupin’s face as he took in the expression on the teen’s face. “I am only concerned that you will get hurt, Harry, especially when you really don’t know everything about—”

“I know enough, Remus,” came the sharp reply. “Besides, when did you become so interested, anyway?” The underlying hurt was evident in Harry’s voice. “You didn’t seem to care over-much last year, when I was drowning in grief, but then, you had found someone to console and comfort you else where, hadn’t you?”

The last of the Marauders looked as if he had been slapped. “Harry. I…”

“Don’t bother, Remus, I figured out how much I meant to you last summer, when I didn’t even rate an owl!”

Devon’s heart nearly stopped when he realized what Harry was doing: in order to protect him, Harry was purposely pushing Lupin away, diverting his attention and, in doing so, possibly doing irreparable damage to their friendship.

“Enough, Potter!” 

The harsh words were punctuated by the slamming and warding of the classroom door with an abrupt wave of his hand. Then, in sharp contrast, Devon gently enfolded Harry in his arms. 

“I will not allow you to do this, Harry,” he said quietly. “This is one sacrifice that I will not tolerate, after all you have sacrificed during your life. If I know nothing else of this man, I know that he is honorable, and his concern is you; please do not dishonor him, or yourself, this way.”

Devon looked up to meet Lupin’s intense scowl. “Why would you take a potion from an anonymous source, Mister Lupin?”

“The packaging smelled of Severus, and he is too much of a perfectionist to tamper with a potion that complicated.”

The Potions master nodded at the logical answer. He loosened his arms as Harry slowly turned around, careful to stay in the circle of his mate’s arms. “I am sorry, Remus, I didn’t really mean that.”

“You should mean it, Harry, as you are actually very close to the truth,” Remus told him quietly, shifting from foot to foot. “I haven’t made myself very available to you, have I?” His voice took on a sad, self-recriminating tone. “I fled from you again, took Dumbledore’s assignment with the werewolf pack and went undercover so that I could deal with the grief I felt over Sirius’ death. Just like I did when Lily and James died, I ran, and completely abandoned the one person who needed me most: you.”

The amber eyes refused to meet look up. Harry stared at him, an odd feeling running through him, almost embarrassed by the admission Remus had made. Hurt warred with compassion, even as tears prickled his eyes. He was at a total loss on how to respond, and ended up tucking the information away to examine later. 

“Then why are you here, asking these questions of Devon?” he asked, trying to make some sense of what was going on.

“You two have gotten close very quickly, Harry, and Minerva even alluded to the possibility of your being soul –mates. I just had to make sure that the feelings between you were genuine. You always seem to pick the hard way to do things, Harry, and a relationship with… this man won’t be easy.” 

“Then, you already know that Devon—”

“No, Harry!” Remus interrupted him, his head jerking up. “I have my suspicions, but as long as they remain suspicions, there is nothing to act on. Minerva has charged me with finding out the facts of what happened, and why Severus Snape killed Albus that night in June. To be truly objective and properly prove this, I cannot have any knowledge that might corrupt the process. I need to see the Pensieve information Albus left you,” he reached into the inner pocket of his robes, pulling out the Marauder’s Map, “and to return this to you.”

“But, Remus, how is it going to change anything if you know—hmpf!”

Devon whipped Harry around and silenced him in the most efficient way he could think of, by covering his lips in a devouring kiss. Both were breathing harder when Devon broke the kiss and pressed the confused teen to him, relaying through their bond what the werewolf was doing – acknowledging and approving what they were doing without jeopardizing them or compromising his own allegiances to Tonks and the Order of the Phoenix.

“Effective, that. I will have to remember to try in on my fiancé,” Remus said conversationally as he studied the pair. 

“Quite,” Devon said, accepting the folded parchment Lupin held out. Their eyes locked for a moment, one conceding the rightfulness of the precious package in the other’s arms.

“Too bad you can’t use that technique in class.”

“Indeed.” The golden eyes followed Lupin as he dismantled the wards with a flick of his wand, one hand stroking the soft, raven hair.

“I will come through this evening, Harry, for the Pensieve viewing, if that is alright. No sense in putting it off.”

hpsshpsshpss

Harry was still quiet, lost in his thoughts, as he followed the others through the door at the far end of the dungeon hallway. As a child, his fondest dream had been that someone, a long lost relative or a special friend of his parents would show up and rescue him from the life of oppression he lived with the Dursleys. After he had come to Hogwarts, Harry had wondered why no one had ever come see him or check on him as when he was little, although he had memories of strangely dressed people bowing and waving to him on the rare occasions he was allowed to accompany his aunt and cousin shopping. 

Idly, he wondered what had become of Remus Lupin after his third year, when Sirius had fled to hide in tropical regions. Harry had not heard anything from his former professor until he led the Advanced Guard to remove Harry from Privet Drive a year later. Actually, he had seen more of Lupin that year as he seemed to spend more time with Sirius, being there almost every time Harry had chanced speaking with his godfather.

“Harry?”

Looking up as his bond mate spoke beside him, Harry flushed as he realized they were standing in front of the doors that led to the Chamber of Secrets. Hermione was looking at him with concern, and he quickly hissed the order for the doors to open, hoping to distract the witch from her intense scrutiny. The gasps from his friends reminded him that neither of them had been there before, and tucking his thoughts back into his trunk, Harry joined them as they stepped inside. Devon remained close to his side, his silent support warming Harry through their bond.

“Bloody hell, Harry! This must be the main room you told us about!” Ron Weasley exclaimed as he unknowingly stood on the same spot his sister had laid unconscious four years before, pivoting to take in the entire chamber.

Hermione was doing the same thing, her face alight with excitement as she took in the huge carved figure of Salazar Slytherin, reaching out to trace the entwined snakes that were in evidence through out the Chamber. Harry stood watching them, a half smile on his face, as Devon moved up beside him and laid a hand on his arm. Shrewd eyes examined his face, taking in the tension still evident in his features and Harry had to smile, having had little experience with someone else caring about him like this. Hermione’s big-sister bossing and Molly Weasley’s smothering ‘mother hen’ methods became oppressive after awhile, and Harry found he much preferred this quiet concern. The silent warmth he experience through the bond kept Harry aware of the older man’s caring, even when they were separated. This was a far cry from the Severus Snape of his memory, who raged at Harry as he ran across the lawns of Hogwarts two months ago, his face a livid picture of anger and, he knew now, gut-wrenching grief.

Shaking himself from his suddenly morose thoughts, Harry hissed the password to open the door to Slytherin’s inner chamber. Brushing past him, hand lingering for just a second, Devon moved inside while Harry stood waiting for his friends to finish gawking at the vast main room. Hermione spun around in one last, slow circle before walking over to him, her face alive with amazement.

“This is absolutely incredible, Harry!” the witch said enthusiastically. “I can’t believe this was carved from solid granite over a thousand years ago!” 

Harry returned her grin, watching as Ron stepped closer to examine the bottom edge of Salazar Slytherin’s carved robes. “It gets even better, Hermione.” His grin turned mischievous, and he leaned close to her. “Do you remember me telling you about the ambient magic down here?”

Hermione nodded, her eyes following his.

“Do a silent summoning spell on Ron,” he whispered as the redhead straightened up and turned to look at them, curious, “without your wand.”

Hermione’s face scrunched up in concentration and suddenly Ron yelped as his feet left the ground as he was hurtled toward the pair. Laughing, Harry stepped forward and caught his friend, and Hermione clamped a hand over her mouth to quell the giggles that threatened to escape.

“Very funny, you two!” Ron grumbled as he straightened his shirt. “Use someone else as your Quaffle!”

With a showy wave of his hand, Harry conjured a regulation red Quaffle and tossed it at the redhead. “You forgot what we told you about the Chamber, Ron!” 

Banishing the ball with a wave of his own hand, Ron turned and followed Harry and Hermione into Slytherin’s study with a bemused expression. “Hey, Harry, I don’t think you finished telling us what Remus had to say before we got to the dungeons.”

“Just that he’d come through this evening to look into Dumbledore’s Pensieve.”

“And he just walked out after that? Even though he was hinting that he knew about Devon?” Ron asked as they stopped into front of the fireplace, eyes darting along the granite walls of the ancient room. “Sometimes Remus is bloody difficult to understand, like that business about pushing Tonks away, and you not hearing from him, and all.”

“Yes,” Hermione agreed thoughtfully, eyes studying Harry. “I have never understood why he acts the way he does with you, Harry.”

Harry looked up from lighting the fire with another wave of his hand. “What do you mean?” he asked, wary of the turn in the conversation.

“Well, for someone as close to your dad as he was, his actions are strange, to say the least. I mean, I can comprehend Remus not coming to see you at the Dursleys and all, but I have never understood why he did not visit you once you started at Hogwarts. I mean, he could have been almost like an uncle to you.”

It was a question that Harry had asked himself in the dark of the night when no one else was around in his third year, after learning that Professor Remus Lupin had been friends with both James and Lily Potter. Reassurance rushed through the bond, warming the areas that had suddenly frozen at the sound of the question asked out loud, closing a freshly opened a place in his mental trunk that Harry could not afford to expose to the light.

“Hermione,” his lover’s rich voice sounded at his shoulder, “I have the incantation necessary to add the Chamber to the Marauders Map. Would you please attempt it while Harry and I see if we can find any further parseltongue parchments in the office?”

Relief flooded through him, and Harry found he was leaning lightly against the older man. Using the time that Devon was explaining the spell, Harry firmly tucked the thoughts and memories back into his trunk.

hpsshpsshpss

_‘Look, this one is talking about how to safely transport a piece of fragmented soul, until it can be safely reunited within the person’s soul.’_

The barriers in their minds open so that both he and Devon could read the squiggled lines that constituted written Parseltongue, Harry pointed to a passage in the ancient parchment on the desk in front of them. They had been at it all afternoon, while Ron and Hermione completed the mapping and exploration of the Chamber. Having ventured back up to the dungeons in search of lunch for all of them, the group was seated comfortably in transfigured chairs at the other end of the study, looking through those texts that were written in English for any that could pertain to the Horcruxes. 

Harry read the passage again, knowing that Devon was transcribing the Latin spells as well as the instructions for casting the spell. This particular one could be construed, he realized with a start, as the first step in making a Horcrux from a fragmented soul. Although Slytherin’s research had been aimed at creating a method to repair a damaged soul, Tom Riddle had taken that and bastardized it for his own evil purpose: to attain immortality. In its pure form, the form that Salazar Slytherin had envisioned, it could help heal those who were suffering. Once again, Harry had to battle back anger over the pain and anguish one man had caused in his quest for power and domination. 

Strong arms wrapped around him and drew him down into an embrace, settling him like a child across the older man’s lap in a comforting manner.

_‘We will succeed, love, and remove the cancer from our society, I promise you. Then perhaps we can take this research further and put it to the use that Slytherin envisioned.’_

Harry buried his face in the soft robes of his mate and allowed Devon to comfort him in a way he was becoming accustomed to. That thought drew a smile from his bond mate, and Harry had just sought warm skin with his lips, when a bolt of excruciating pain shot through his scar. Twin gasps were pulled from both men as the agonizing pain and darkness threatened to overwhelm them. Ron and Hermione were instantly on their feet. Concentrating, Harry struggled to raise his barrier, shoving the pain to one side as he mentally closed the window. He knew that would save Severus from the bulk of the pain.

“He is enraged,” Devon said, his quiet voice reverberating through the small study, causing Ron and Hermione to wince.

“Yes,” Harry agreed, rubbing at the lightning bolt-shaped scar with the heel of his hand. “At least we’ve been able to dampen the link enough that the pain is tolerable.”

Devon snorted as he extracted a small vial of analgesic potion from his robes and handed it silently to his mate. Harry swallowed the bitter fluid without question, allowing the older man to draw him into a tighter embrace.

“Do you think he found out something about the Horcruxes?” Hermione asked, obviously remembering the last time Harry had felt pain this severe.

“Perhaps,” Devon said thoughtful, rubbing a hand up and down Harry’s back, glad that the pain had eased. “The impression I received did indicate the Dark Lord was roused by something he found.”

‘Which means you may be summoned at anytime.’ Harry seemed to be reading his thoughts still, but Devon understood the message and the meaning behind it.

“We can take these back to the house and study them further there,” Devon eased Harry to his feet and stood, shaking out the front of his robes. “We need to go ward the outside door to the chamber with our combined magic, which I think will withstand any attempt to get through the protective fields.” 

“Yes, if Voldemort has discovered that another of the Horcruxes is gone, he will probably want to check on the remaining ones,” Hermione added sagely. “Ron and I will get these put together while you two see to that, if you would like.”

It did not take long, casting the spells as one in both Latin and Parseltongue, to weave protective spells that seemed to impervious to interference. Both of the bond mates were on edge as they waited for the slow burning sensation that would announce the Dark Lord’s demand for the presence of Severus Snape. Gathering everything they would need, the group made its way back through the dungeons, where the Potions master stopped to do a quick inventory of the student potions cabinet, before all four of them headed to the Headmistresses office. They Flooed back to Dumbledore House from there, gently laying the additional sheets of parchment on the desk in the study before heading upstairs to clean up.

It was not until they had finished a simple dinner that Devon felt the warmth the signaled his summoning. With what he hoped was a reassuring smile, he made his way up to the room they now shared, delving into the depths of the wardrobe for the hated black Death Eater robes and mask. Harry tilted his face up for a kiss before Severus through a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace.

“Spinner’s End.”

hpsshpsshpss

“Hermione? I need to ask you something,” Harry told his friend as he watched the emerald flames carry his mate away.

The witch looked up from the parchment she was making notes on at the desk, and frowned at the determined look on Harry’s face. “What’s the matter?”

“If I am reading these incantations correctly, you could start with this spell over here,” he pointed to the spell they had uncovered that afternoon to extract a soul fragment and contain it, “and then use this spell here, the one that reunites the piece with the main part of the soul, to put it back into the owner’s body, right?”

The bushy head nodded, Hermione’s eyes sharp as she watched his face. “Yes, although we are still missing the incantation we need to prepare the container to hold the piece until we can perform the second spell. Why?” 

“Because I was thinking of asking you to cast this first spell on me,” Harry told her, determined and unflinching in the face of her scowl.

“Why in on earth would you want her to do that, Harry?” Ron looked up from the book he was going through, confused.

Harry sighed and moved to where he could see the portrait of Albus Dumbledore, and the man sitting quietly in his chair watching the interplay. 

“Professor, you’ve said that it took significant deaths for Tom Riddle to use in order to split his soul.”

The Headmaster nodded his head, waiting patiently even in his painted form for Harry to get to his question.

“We also went through the deaths that we thought would be significant enough to create a Horcrux. In keeping with that theory and the fact that we found Ravenclaw’s thimble at Godric’s Hollow, do you think,” Harry paused fractionally, a lump having formed in his throat, “Voldemort believed my death would have been significant enough to have planned to make another Horcrux out of it?”

“We’ve discussed this before, Harry. Yes, I do think that Tom Riddle had planned to do just that, but the Killing Curse rebounding on him would have prevented that,” the portrait told him easily.

Harry shook his head sadly, his throat tightening. “From what we have been able to find, sir, he would have had to start the incantation almost immediately after he cast the _Avada Kedavra_. If that was done, do you believe that my scar holds a portion of Riddle’s soul?”

The portrait studied him carefully, one hand stroking his long gray beard. “If you were still connected by spell-light when the Killing Curse rebounded, it is possible that the piece of soul that tore when he cast the spell could have been thrown clear of Riddle’s body and taken the same path as the curse.”

Hermione gasped and covered her mouth, and Harry could see her soft brown eyes well with tears. Ron was on his feet and beside him as Harry looked back up at the portrait, silently watching as the Headmaster continued to stroke his beard.

“I do not believe that it is a true Horcrux though, Harry, as you had not been prepared to contain the fragment undamaged. It may explain why you were able to access the abilities you possess that came from Voldemort.”

“Does it mean,” Harry pushed out around the lump in his throat, “that if the soul fragment is still in my curse scar when I kill Voldemort, then I will die as well? Are we connected that closely?”

“I do not know, Harry. There is that possibility,” Albus Dumbledore told him, sadness creasing his face.

Harry turned to Hermione with a sad smile. “That is why I want to try that spell, Hermione.”

The witch studied his face. “You haven’t discussed this with Devon, have you?”

“No, I…” Harry hesitated, “I don’t know what extracting the thing will do, and I am afraid he is not going to want to try.”

At this inopportune moment, the fireplace flared green and Remus Lupin’s head appeared. “Can I come through, Harry?”

Ron scowled at the interruption, and Hermione spun on her heel, marching back to the desk. With a suppressed sigh, Harry gave the older wizard permission to come through. Dressed in the same shabby robes he had worn that morning in the dungeons, Remus Lupin quietly greeted each of the teenagers, eyes lingering over the visibly upset Hermione. 

“Did I come at a bad time?”

“No, not at all,” Harry said as he gestured toward the chairs. “We were just discussing a hypothetical situation.”

“I see,” Lupin sat down, his eyes sweeping the room, before landing on the portrait as it watched silently. “Good evening, Albus.”

“Thank you for coming, Remus. I hope that this will convince you of the sincerity of Severus’ actions.”

Harry reached to pull the Pensieve off its shelf and froze as he saw Severus Snape’s wand still sitting in its customary spot. His mate had forgotten to exchange wands, and still carried Albus Dumbledore’s. Apprehension welled up in him as he thought of what Voldemort would do if he discovered it. Surprised to find that his hands were shaking, Harry carefully removed the three vials of translucent silver strands near the front. Moving slowly, he managed to get everything to the low table in front of the chairs in one piece. Tipping the contents of the first vial into the shimmering liquid, Harry prodded it with his wand, setting the fluid swirling.

“This is the reason Professor Dumbledore trusted Severus Snape, Remus,” the teenager said quietly. He stepped back and watched as Lupin leaned over the Pensieve.

The room was silent as Harry repeated the sequence with the second and third vials, showing the older wizard the memory of Severus slowing the progress of the curse from Gaunt’s ring, and the memory of the Unbreakable Vow, and Dumbledore ordering the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor to kill him when the time came. Remus sat silently as Harry collected the items and returned them to the shelf, stopping for a moment to run his fingers along the dark length of the wand laying there. 

“Severus will be willing to testify to a select group of Order members under Veritaserum?”

“That is my understanding,” Harry told him.

Ron and Hermione were engrossed in a discussion, stopping briefly to respond as Lupin bid them good night. Harry stood to one side and held out the tin of Floo powder as the amber eyes studied his face.

“I apologize for this morning, Harry; I truly had no intention of challenging your Professor Prince.”

Harry gave a little tip of his head, the conversation from that morning re-playing in his mind. 

“We’ll get together here soon, Harry, and spent some time together,” Remus smiled softly. “Try to make up for not being there for you, how’s that?”

“I don’t know, Remus. How do you make up for allowing a child to grow up believing that he is unworthy of love?”

* * *


	29. Fragmented Thoughts

* * *

It had been almost two hours since Devon had Flooed to Spinner’s End, and Harry dropped heavily into his chair in front of the fireplace, his eyes fixed on the narrow piece of dark wood sitting on the shelf. Ron looked up from where he was sitting on the couch, going through one of the journals they had found in Regulus’ room.

“Are you alright?” he asked with a frown.

“I’m not sure, Ron, but I am going to find out,” he said, closing his eyes.

Harry sealed off his mind, isolating himself from outside influences as Severus had taught him, and slowly eased open the barrier between them. Peering out, he was swamped with a calm that wasn’t his, along with an overall deep ache in his joints that came from being held under the Cruciatus Curse. Staying to the shadows, Harry looked up enough to see they were standing in front of several softly simmering cauldrons; two were rejuvenation and healing potions that were in the process of being completed, and one was a darker, fouler liquid that Harry knew was a liquid form of the torture curse the Potions master had been working on. The long, elegant fingers that he loved to feel against his skin were slicing murtlap tentacles with sure, quick strokes.

_I am undamaged at the moment, but you are a distraction that could prove detrimental to me. I am being watched and can ill afford any mistakes.’_

_‘The wand, I wanted to warn you…’_

_‘Yes, an unfortunate oversight, but one I think I have mitigated. Go, Harry, please.’_

_‘I love you,’_ Harry whispered as he slid back through the barrier and resealed it, only slightly reassured.

 

It was a long evening for Harry. He tried to push his worry to the back of his mind and concentrate on the parchments they had brought back with them. Hermione acted as scribe as he painstakingly translated the text, taking particular care with the instructions for the extraction of soul fragments. The Latin spell-work itself was tedious, and Harry swore to himself that he would learn the language, as he could see that it was the root of all magic. Hermione had frowned at him as he repeated the spell used by Slytherin to gather soul fragments, first in Latin and then Parseltongue, but there was no further discussion of casting it on Harry himself. Ron fell asleep on the couch, and Harry straightened up by himself while Hermione levitated him to their bedroom just after midnight.

“He’ll be fine, Harry, he has been doing this for a lot of years.” She patted his shoulder as she said good night. 

Trudging up the stairs, Harry went through the motions of preparing for bed, his mind on the Potions master as he slid into bed. Checking to make sure the potions he was sure Severus would need were on the bedside table, Harry pulled the lightweight blanket over him to ward off the slight chill to the night air. Clearing his mind, and concentrating on relaxing, he settled down and tried to fall asleep. 

The earlier conversation with Remus Lupin replayed in his mind, and Harry cringed at how it had ended. It was something that he had thought about many times in the past few years, locked away in the darkness of Dudley’s second bedroom or the room he shared at with Ron as Grimmauld Place, but had never really examined in the light of day. Why had the last of his parents’ close friends never attempted to see him when he was a child? Surely it would have been allowed, and even if that had been impossible in the Muggle world, Remus would have known exactly when he started at Hogwarts. Why had he not found the time to come see Harry there? 

The thought occurred to Harry that Dumbledore had purposefully kept him ignorant of the magical world so that there was no undue influence on him, as much as keep him safe from danger. If the inordinate amount of interest that had been taken by the Daily Prophet since he had arrived at Hogwarts was any indication, Harry shuddered to think of what would have happened if anyone had known where he lived as a child. Could that need for secrecy have applied for Remus Lupin and other Order members as well? If so, how had Ron and his brothers found the Dursleys the summer before his second year? Harry acknowledged that his location might have been concealed, but that certainly would have changed when he came to Hogwarts, wouldn’t it? That thought was still circling his mind when he finally fell asleep.

hpsshpsshpss

The steely gray band at the horizon indicated the approach of dawn as Severus stepped out of the fireplace with an uncharacteristic stumble. Righting himself, he made his way up to the bedroom he now shared with Harry, the residual pain reminding him of the punishments he had received for perceived mistakes. Devon Prince had not made enough progress in his assignment to get closer to Harry Potter, despite the fact that the term had not even started. The oversight of taking Albus’ wand with him had actually saved him from too much torture, and had actually boosted his position once again with the Dark Lord, who had seemed suitably impressed that Severus had been cognizant enough to retrieve it and powerful enough to use it. It had immediately given the evil wizard the idea to use it for another Horcrux, although he had not said as much directly, instead requesting its use as a replacement for what he had recently lost. That idea had immediately frozen Severus’ heart, but he was able to retain the wand for the present, as he needed it for the brewing the Dark Lord had ordered.

Stifling a moan at the ache in his joints as he slid into bed, Severus was not surprised when a vial of potion was pressed into his hand and the bedside lamp flared to life. Harry’s face was pale, his eyes darkly shadowed, and Severus knew that the teenager could detect the effects of the curses he had tried so hard to hide. Swallowing the bitter liquid gratefully, he set the vial on the table, and lay down. His mate rose up on one elbow, the emerald eyes drinking in his dark hair and onyx eyes.

“My Severus,” Harry breathed as he gathered the older man close. “I was really worried when I realized you had left your wand.”

“Yes, but the reaction was the opposite of what I would have anticipated,” he said, settling against the warm length. “It seems the Dark Lord believes I lowered myself to take it as a trophy the night Albus died. I was congratulated on my depravity and cursed for not telling him sooner.”

Harry shuddered at the thought. “Well, at least he thought you were showing off and not that you were using it as part of your disguise.”

“Actually, the only reason he did not take it from me was that I needed a compatible wand to use. The Dark Lord wants me to allow him to use it – I believe for a Horcrux.”

With a sigh, Harry snuggled closer, knowing they had averted one crisis but were now faced with another. “I suppose we will know when Voldemort is ready to make another Horcrux, because he will want the wand from you.”

“Mmm…” Severus acknowledged, already slipping into sleep.

hpsshpsshpss

Hermione greeted them late that morning with hot tea and fresh fruit, her eyes searching the angular face and golden eyes for the signs of residual pain that she was sure must be there. Harry had been disappointed when Severus had taken the modified Polyjuice Potion before even getting out of bed that morning.

“It’s all right, Hermione, I made him take a vial of the post-Cruciatus Potion that you helped brew when he got home last night, then another before we came downstairs,” Harry told her, smothering a smile as the witch had the grace to blush. Embarrassed, she turned to the door, heading to the sitting room to find the parchments they had been writing notes on.

“It is somewhat disconcerting to listen to you prattle on as if I were not present,” Devon Prince said acerbically, a bit of Severus peeking out. 

Harry snorted as he peeled a banana. Glancing at his mate as he slid the fruit into his mouth, he found the older man’s eyes riveted on him. Harry began to play with the banana, sliding it slowly into and out of his mouth. He felt himself becoming aroused as he watched the color bloom on the pale face watching the steamy display. 

His play was interrupted by Hermione’s return. Coming back into the kitchen, the witch smacked Harry in the back of the head as she walked by his chair, muttering something about immature gits and phallic symbols. Devon smirked at him, but winced as Harry took a large bite out of the end of the banana.

Ron joined them, coming in from the back garden, where he had walked the perimeter of the fenced area as a precaution, despite the extremely strong wards in place. The group moved to the sitting room, where they spent the majority of the day studying the transcriptions and organizing the ancient spells and charms, paying particular attention to the spells designed to extract a soul fragment and reunify the soul. Feeling the witch’s eyes following him, Harry smiled reassuringly at Hermione even as she shot a pointed look at the Potions master. Devon, bent over one of the translations they had done the night before, missed the exchange.

_‘Harry, I need to see this through you. I do not understand this one word.’_

Harry did not have time to even consider hiding his thoughts before the older man had lowered the barriers. The flare of anger was swift, coming as Devon brushed against the thought. The teenager was instantly remorseful, realizing that his desire to spare his mate any pain seemed petty. The anger built until it rolled across Harry’s inner-most feelings: his love and his very real fear that Severus would die like his parents and godfather. The anger diminished, shrinking almost to nothing as the teen’s very real fear of being abandoned and his trepidation that he would not survive the final battle with Voldemort were revealed. The older man had seen these before, but never in the starkness he did at this moment.

_‘You need not fear that I am going to leave you. I promise you I will not.’_

Devon had moved to where Harry stood, enfolding him in a soothing embrace. “I will cast the spell on you myself as soon as we have established how to contain any fragment we might find.” 

Harry nodded, burying his face into the side of his mate’s neck, not caring that his glasses were digging into his cheek, savoring the warm reassurance being given. He had harbored such fears since he had learned of the Prophecy just over a year ago, and they had only grown once he acknowledged the possibility that he might be a Horcrux. In the recesses of his mind, Harry had resigned himself to his own death, he realized. A visual image of himself thrown across the Potions master’s lap, being vigorously spanked, intruded on his thoughts, startling him. Harry yelped involuntarily. Pulling back, he pasted a scowl on his face in response to the smirk he saw. 

“I still do not think that using an untried spell on yourself is a wise idea,” Hermione said, watching the couple, “but on the other hand, if you do carry a fragment of Voldemort’s soul in your scar, Harry, then you will not be able to kill him until it is destroyed.”

“We shall address that situation when the time comes. In the meantime, we must be sure of our translation of the spells and incantations, and we must search for the spell to ensure containment if a fragment is indeed present.”

“Could we use that same spell over a large area, Devon?” Ron spoke up for the first time, his expression thoughtful.

“Possibly, over a limited distance,” the Polyjuiced man said as he stepped back from Harry and turned toward Ron, “and coupled with a Summoning Charm.”

“Maybe Dobby or one of the others could go with us. The house-elves are sensitive to the different types of magic, according to Piat,” Harry reminded them, as he dropped into a chair.

“Devon, did you say that Voldemort actually talked to you about the Horcruxes?” Hermione asked as she sat beside Ron on the couch.

Standing underneath the portrait of Albus Dumbledore, who was just waking up, Devon relayed the details of the previous night’s meeting. Voldemort was concerned about the Horcruxes, although he had not specifically referred to them as such, instead calling them ‘treasures’ that ensured his immortality. The Dark Lord did not believe that Dumbledore could have done more than stumble onto Slytherin’s ring in the ruins of the hovel the Gaunts had called home. The evil wizard had cited the blackened hand that the Headmaster had sported during the last term as an indication that Dumbledore had had no idea what he had found. 

With the arrogance of a megalomaniac, Voldemort had dismissed any concern for the other Horcruxes. He had sent Bellatrix Lestrange, after several Cruciatus Curses as motivation, back out in search of the Black residence in London, where Mundungus Fletcher was known to have last stayed. Although the ring was momentarily out of his reach and the locket unaccounted for, the Dark Lord had seemed unconcerned, saying only that the contents of both were still intact and usable if the need arose, without specifying the nature of what the artifacts held. 

“Which proves that Lord Voldemort is not able to detect when a Horcrux is destroyed,” the portrait of Albus Dumbledore supplied, a thoughtful expression on his face. 

“And that means we can continue to destroy the Horcruxes and Voldemort won’t know until it is too late,” Harry concluded with a triumphant look.

“Unless he begins to make more.” 

Devon’s quiet remark sobered them all.

hpsshpsshpss

Devon stepped out of the shower. Using the soft cotton towel that he preferred over casting a drying spell, he quickly dried his hair before wrapping the towel around his waist. When he padded out into their bedroom, the Potions master was greeted by the sight of his mate sprawled on his back on the bed, dozing. Harry had stripped down to just his underwear, and the nicely muscled thighs splayed out, one leg bent at the knee and the other straight, both hands folded on top of the flat stomach. Devon felt the sharp clench of arousal race through him at the sight of his mate lying across their bed with such abandon. 

For once, he was glad that he was in the persona of Devon Prince; the softer disposition seemed more appropriate for the emotions that were coursing through him, desire being only one of them As he became more comfortable in the Polyjuiced form, Devon found that he could release a part of Severus Snape that had been held in check for many years, and he had found that the love he felt did not seem to weaken him, but had, in fact, strengthened his resolve to get rid of the evil bastard who dictated the direction of both their lives. Letting the towel fall to the floor, he sat down of the edge of the bed and reached a hand up to lightly stroke through the unruly mop of raven hair. 

With a mutter, the teenager leaned into the caress, his lips parting in an undeniable invitation. Devon answered by leaning down and taking what was offered, softly parting the lips further and exploring the warm interior as he slid down on the bed. Lying on his side as he leisurely continued the kiss, Devon ran one hand down the warm expanse of skin and let his fingers lightly trace the contours of his mate’s chest. A moan escaped Harry as a fingernail scraped gently over one of the flat nipples. With the corners of his mouth twitching upwards, the older man toyed with the nub until it was hard, before pinching it lightly. Harry woke with a groan and arched into the caress, pulling his mouth away as he did. Devon leaned down and replaced his fingers with his mouth, suckling greedily as his fingers began to abuse the other nipple. Fingers speared into his hair, urging him on, and Devon rose to his knees. Moving down the flat plane of warm, damp skin, Devon delighted in the slightly salty flavor. 

Finally reaching his ultimate destination, he swirled his tongue around the leaking tip, one hand steadying the twitching erection as the other slipped down to gently cup the heavy sac. Opening his mouth, Devon pushed his lips slowly down the hard length until his nose brushed the crisp black curls, and then pulled back, his tongue lapping at the sensitive underside. Releasing the base of Harry’s cock, he silently summoned the lube from the bedside table, catching it handily. Devon coated his fingers before he traced one down the velvety skin of his cleft, rubbing gently across the puckered entrance before breaching the ring. With long teasing strokes, he prepared Harry, who arched off the mattress when Devon brushed lightly over his prostate.

In the blink of an eye, Devon found their positions reversed. The teenager’s eyes seemed to glow as he leaned down to devour the older man’s mouth, simultaneously allowing his body to slowly impale itself on Devon’s hardness. The breath left his lungs in a rush as tight heat engulfed him. A wicked mouth suckled at his earlobe as Harry planted one hand on either side of his head and rocked his hips. Groans escaped each of them at the movement, and Devon felt his mate clench the muscles surrounding him, squeezing and rocking to create a sensation like none Devon had ever felt before. With a moan of need, he brought the teen’s lips back to his. Devon’s hands seemed to move of their own volition, stroking against over-heated skin, spearing through the unruly mop of hair and mapping the broadening shoulders, tracing the contours of Harry’s chest and tweaking the hard nubs before one hand slid down to grasp the erection caught between their bodies. 

The rapid, even rocking motion, coupled with the milking of the clenching muscles, had Devon gasping into Harry’s mouth as his tongue thrust into him in an almost desperate rhythm. His other hand dropped to the slim hip, grabbing it to encourage Harry to pick up his speed, his hand squeezing the hard cock in time to the clench of the muscles. Wrenching his mouth away, Harry flung his head back. Low, hissing syllables of Parseltongue slipped from his lips, and the tightness in Devon’s balls suddenly snapped, pulling them up tight against his scrotum and sending Devon over the edge into a blinding orgasm. He vaguely felt the desperate jerk of Harry’s hips as the teen shouted out his own climax, and then slumped over on the older man’s chest.

“Bloody hell!” Harry muttered, his breath ragged. A gentle breeze blew across their sweat-drenched bodies, accompanied by the tingle of a cleansing charm. 

Snuggling into the slick skin, Harry savored the feeling of loving and being loved. This closeness to another human being, both literally and emotionally was still so new to him, and like nothing he had experienced before he had realized Severus Snape was his soul mate. There had been quite a transition in his feelings and understanding of the world around him since June. 

The snarky, perpetually vicious Head of Slytherin had never missed a chance to belittle him over the years, but saved his life on several occasions. Ron had suggested at one point that the greasy git, his favorite nickname for Snape, had only sought to repay, albeit grudgingly, the Wizard Debt owed to James Potter, but Harry now knew better. A memory in the deeply buried reaches of the older man’s mind showed that Snape had recognized Harry Potter as his soul mate, much to the horror of that wizard’s subconscious. The implications of the tingling he felt when he had grabbed the youngster’s hand as Harry improperly chopped mandrake root during a potions lesson had rocked the man to his very foundation. It became apparent to Harry as he looked back over the years that Severus had never believed they would have a chance to be together, and that knowledge funneled into more bitterness and frustration, despite his attempt to bury it. The incident in the spring of his fifth year, when Harry had violated the older wizard’s privacy by going into his Pensieve, had been one of the most painful in his life, as his soul mate had been witness to his greatest humiliation.

Harry sighed, brushing his hands across the warm, hair-roughened of skin of Devon’s chest. His fingers gently stroked over the surface like a blind person reading a book, his mind whirling with the visible images of incidents over the years that suddenly took on a new perspective. Long, slender fingers threaded into the snarl of hair at the back of his head, the action soothing him as their breathing finally returned to normal.

“You are thinking too hard, Potter.” The attempt at sarcasm made Harry smile.

“Yes, Sev-on....” he whispered cheekily against the warm flesh, planting a wet kiss above the strongly beating heart.

He had almost drifted off to sleep, cushioned in the warm embrace of the man he loved, when the implications of Lord Voldemort’s assertion that he wanted Albus Dumbledore’s wand for a Horcrux struck him, and he stiffened suddenly.

“Severus, Voldemort wants to use the Headmaster’s wand as a Horcrux for the last significant death on his agenda,” Harry announced quietly in to the darkened room. “Mine.”

* * *


	30. Trip to Diagon Alley

* * *

Harry was quiet over the next few days while they sought to put the ancient pieces of parchment into some sensible order. Another search through Regulus’ bedroom at Grimmauld Place failed to turn up the missing incantation. His mood introspective, Harry was forced to admit that it was definitely the most important part of the puzzle for him, as the thought of carrying around a piece of the evil bastard made him sick to his stomach. It wasn’t so much the thought of Voldemort striving to bring about his death that bothered him, as Harry had lived with that knowledge since the end of his fourth year; it was the misery and death that would occur around him during the attempt to complete this goal that concerned him. Tom Riddle had proven at an early age that he had none of the finer emotions, the ones that separated humans from animals, and he had no qualms about who he killed in his attempts to achieve what he considered his right. 

With the term fast approaching, the two couples decided to venture into Diagon Alley one more time to pick up supplies and do a final search for the Slytherin locket. They had all learned the incantation to summon a soul fragment, but were unsure of what would happen if they attempted in, especially near Harry, without a container prepared to house it. Devon had not been summoned over the past three days, and had not been able to put into action a plan to convince Voldemort to prepare Dumbledore’s wand as a Horcrux so that they could learn the spell. Ron and Hermione were going to make one attempt at the spell while they were near the Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes shop, after casting a strong shielding charm, just to see if anything happened. The four of them had engaged in a lively debate as to whether the spell would work in Latin or Parseltongue. Harry had a feeling that since the soul was originally split using the serpent language, then it would only respond to that tongue. 

They traveled by the Floo network to the Leaky Cauldron in a roundabout way. Harry was feeling a little green as he finally stepped out; he didn’t care what any of them said, he was Apparating back to the house when they were done. Devon retained the grace and elegance of his dark-eyed alter ego, stepping out of the fireplace with not a hair out of place, much to Harry’s disgust. He was pleasantly surprised when the older wizard took his hand and entwined their fingers, just as Hermione took Ron’s, and led the way into the wizarding shopping area. Hermione had out-done herself with his appearance charms, adding them to the effects of a mild version of Polyjuice Potion Severus had made for him. His hair was a shoulder-length dark auburn and his eyes hazel, but his appearance had also been altered to that of a young man in his mid-twenties. It felt amazingly good to be able to stroll through the shops hand in hand like other couples; their disguises provided a freedom to Harry unlike anything he had ever experienced.

A whisper of worry trickled down through the bond, and Harry did his best to dispel the concern his mate was feeling. Tucking the worst of his whirling thoughts into the trunk in his mind, Harry allowed himself to be maneuvered through the sparsely occupied area. Flourish and Blotts was the first stop, where they picked up the odd bits and pieces they needed for the coming year and stocked Devon with new accoutrements, arguing that the new Potions professor at a school like Hogwarts would want to bring with him the items he was accustomed to. Smothering a smile when Devon finally agreed with Hermione’s logic, Harry realized that the last thing Severus Snape would ever voluntarily do was use Slughorn’s hand-me-downs, but Devon Prince could not use Snape’s, either. The feeling of pleasure he shared vicariously made Harry smile as they moved to the apothecary for potion ingredients. 

As they passed Quality Quidditch Supplies, Harry noted the darkened, empty windows and could not help but wonder what had happened to the owner. Florean Fortescue’s was still closed, and only a few witches with their children were hurrying along towards Madam Malkin’s at this end of the Alley. Harry wondered where the children set to start at Hogwarts were getting their wands with Olivander's closed. The interior of the apothecary was packed with an abundance of fresh potion ingredients, as though there had not been much demand for them lately. The new Potions professor of Hogwarts chose his provisions quickly, watching as they were quickly packaged and sent off with waiting post owls. 

Carefully pocketing several of the more delicate items packaged in unbreakable vials, Devon paid for his supplies and the couple made their way out the door in to the sparsely peopled street. Watery sunlight filtered through the light gray clouds that had appeared while they were in the shop, and Harry eyed them sharply. The beautiful summer day seemed to be rapidly disappearing, and there was now a distinct chill in the air. As the teenager turned to look up the street, he could see a large group of people, mostly children and teenagers, standing around the front of the Weasley twins’ shop, and he smiled when he remembered Ron saying Fred and George were releasing a new product line. 

Harry and Devon started toward the joke shop, where they were to meet Rom and Hermione in order to Apparate from the back room. A cold, dark shadow passed overhead, and with a feeling of foreboding, Harry glanced up. His gasp, coupled with the shaft of panic that lanced through him, alerted Devon to look as well.

The sky was black with Dementors. 

Devon had his years of working as a spy to thank for not panicking at the sight of hundreds of the foul creatures swooping down toward the gathering of children and teenagers in front of the Weasleys’ shop. Screams began to sound in his mind like the sirens of Muggle law enforcers, and a corner of his consciousness recognized them as filtering through from Harry. As one, they dropped into a crouch, both with wands in hand.

“ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” 

Two very large, bright silver shapes shot from their wands in unison and sped toward the mass of Dementors. Devon was momentarily stunned by the brilliant white light that outlined the glowing silver creature, so different from the sleek feline form that he cast with his own wand, that winged its way into the middle of the swirling pack. The creature seemed a combination of a large snake and a phoenix. Harry’s Patronus was the familiar stag, except that it was three times the size of a normal stag, and proceeded to launch itself into the group of Dementors closest to the group of children cowering in front of the shop. Harry ran forward, and Devon brought up the rear; he could see several other Patronuses join in the battle. A silver otter was particularly aggressive as it chased several Dementors away from a young family. 

Dodging terrified bystanders as they ran in all directions away from the attack, Devon was amazed to see his Patronus still circling overhead, encouraging the rows of Dementors to disperse. As he scanned the area for Death Eaters, Devon was encouraged when the darkness lifted. The Dementors retreated as quickly as they had arrived, leaving a blue, sunny sky behind. There was still a large group of people milling about, mostly other patrons who had been inside other shops at the time of the attack who had come out to see what was happening. They were now helping people up from the ground, where they had fallen or were pushed down in the panic. An instant of excruciating pain in the right side of his head caused Devon to stumble. The feeling of cold dread that still hung over him intensified, and he looked around quickly for his mate. 

One of the Weasley twins leaned weakly against the doorframe, cradling his left arm, blood coloring his glaring yellow robes. Granger was ushering some apparently injured people, including a couple small children, into the shop with the youngest Weasley’s help. He scanned the crowd quickly, his eyes darting past several men carrying others injured towards the entrance to Diagon Alley, and he skipped over those quickly as he forced his way into the knot standing in the middle of the street. An elderly wizard lay on the hard ground, obviously dead, though whether from the Dementors or being trampled, Devon could not tell. The body lay adjacent to a significant pool of blood, but with no visible injuries.

“Oh my, that poor young man!” A plump, matronly witch had a handkerchief to her face. “I do hope he will be alright!”

“Yes, my dear.” A tall, slender wizard in worn brown robes patted her arm. “I am sure he will be. Looked a bit like our boy, didn’t he, with that dark red hair, poor thing.”

Devon froze as he heard the comment, and knew in his gut that Harry had been hurt. Severus asserted himself through Devon’s gentler personality to push through the crowd.

“Where did they take him?” he asked brusquely, the worry etched into the golden features, as the woman looked at him with a frown. “He is my husband, and we were separated in the crowd.”

“Husband?” the wizard questioned, studying Devon’s face intently, before nodding. “The large man who was here said he needed to get him to St. Mungo’s, and he Disapparated.”

His heart seized. Devon Apparated on the spot to the alley behind the hospital, and slipped in through the back door. He made his way through the back corridor used by the Healers and by-passed the reception area, making his way to the Spell Injuries ward. The glamours that had been cast on Harry were strong, but they might waiver or fail if he was unconscious for any period of time, and Devon knew that he would be in great danger: the Dark Lord had followers in place among the staff. Wending his way as quietly as possible through the maze of beds, Devon made his way through the ward, but Harry was not among them. As the Potions master exited the quiet ward, a young woman in the lime green robes of a Healer walked by, and Devon stepped into her path.

“Where are the casualties brought in from Diagon Alley?” he asked as rationally as he could, knowing that his words came out abruptly.

The dark-skinned witch eyed him suspiciously, no doubt wondering how he had managed to get on to the ward without supervision. “Ground floor, next to Reception, they have set up a triage area.” 

Devon swept by her with a muttered thanks, moving rapidly through the hallway to the stairs, and down to the ground floor. The emptiness inside him chilled Devon. Then he rounded a corner, and could hear a rumble of loud voices. Following the sound, he made his way through a doorway to see a half dozen people lying on conjured cots in a large room. Dread swept through him as he tried to find Harry on one of the camp beds, unconsciously opening the barrier between them. Coldness greeted him. The warmth of his mate’s very essence seemed to be absent, and Devon stopped in his tracks, reaching out frantically. The bond was intact; the only sign that Harry was still alive, but all of the teenager’s considerable powers were focused inward, as if the rest of him were hibernating. 

Realization struck Devon suddenly, even as his inner Snape sneered at the maudlin emotion swirling inside him. Harry had withdrawn unconsciously in order to protect and heal himself, something that the older man somehow knew was left over from a childhood of neglect and abuse, a self-defense mechanism the child had perfected in his time at the Dursleys’. The gravity of the action spurred him on, and he made his way down the line of beds until he came upon the last one, pulled by the invisible ties that bound them.

A man almost as large as Hagrid stood over the bed, blood covering the left side of his chest and a large staff in hand, as a several lime green-robed Healers attempted to examine the figure lying motionless on the cot. As Devon moved closer, the toe of a dragon hide boot appeared, and his eyes fastened onto it like a lifeline. The large man took a step forward, and there was something in his stance that spoke volumes, but the unfocused eyes brushed passed Devon.

“I did not mean to strike him, just those… things!” he muttered over and over.

One of the Healers straightened from where he had been bent over the cot as Devon moved closer, and he caught a glimpse of dark auburn hair. “There is no sign of Dark spells or hexes, only the head trauma,” he stated with clinical detachment.

Severus asserted himself as Devon continued to move forward, pushing the gigantic man out of the way and stepping between the Healers. Harry lay motionless on the bed, one side of his face swollen and purple, the right side of his head covered with blood-matted hair. The right side of the robes he wore was dark with blood, and fresh blood seeped onto the pillow. Devon’s breath caught in his chest at the paleness of the features and the smears of red that coated Harry’s face and neck. A hand attempted to grab his arm as Devon bent down, and he whirled, wand in hand.

“What have you idiots been doing? Why has no one tried to stop the bleeding or cast the simplest of healing spells?” he spat at them. The group of Healers cringed at the deadly tone. “I am taking him—”

“You,” a thin, frowning witch pushed her way through, the wrinkles in her face in contrast to her lively step and brusque manner, “are not taking him anywhere!”

Severus sneered at the woman; her white robes were trimmed with lime green, heralding her position as Head Healer. “I will take my husband wherever I deem appropriate. I want him to receive the best treatment, and St. Mungo’s is obviously not the place for that!” 

The group of Healers erupted in a chorus of voices, all vying for the ear of the Matron to assure her they had done their job, and the Potions master used the commotion to turn his attention back to Harry. He flicked his wand and transfigured the pillow into wrappings, which proceeded to gently wrap themselves around the teenager’s head. Incanting a simple healing spell to stop the bleeding as he inspected the wound, Devon tuned out the squabbling voices, making a metal list of what Harry would need as soon as he could get him to the Hogwarts infirmary. Devon sat Harry up and leaned him against his chest, then he looked up to meet the now clear brown eyes of the gentleman who had caused his injury. They searched his face intently before the large head dipped.

“I was never good at charms. I was swinging at the Dementors who were swarming around that poor old wizard, and I hit your young man instead. I am so sorry.”

Devon nodded, aware that the conversation behind them had stopped as the man’s deep, rumbling voice drowned them out. Devon struggled to lift Harry’s limp weight off the cot, and the man stepped in to help. He gingerly lifted the teenager as if he were a baby, and held him until Devon was able to support the teenager against his chest, and prepared to Apparate them both to Grimmauld Place.

“Wait! You can’t take him out of here, he requires treatment! Put him back down this instant!” the Matron demanded. “We do not even know his name!”

Devon could feel his newly found comrade move behind him in an unmistakable gesture of support. “He is Henry Evans, and I am his husband, Devon. I will be taking him to be treated by a mediwitch familiar with his medical history. Now, I insist that you move aside; I will not risk splinching him.”

“But you can’t! He needs to be seen—”

“Enough!” Devon roared. “You have had him in your clutches for over twenty minutes and could not even stem the flow of blood from his injuries! Move aside!”

The Matron and the Healer who had checked Harry for curses appeared to be ready to argue the point when the man behind him spoke. 

“I am Edgar Hopkirk, and I believe Mr. Evans needs to take care of his husband,” the wizard rumbled, his deep voice raising.

“We don’t know that this is truly the man’s husband, or someone bent on—”

‘Oh for the love of—” The Matron pulled out a short, light-colored wand and waved it over the two men, muttering an incantation until, with a flare of brilliant white, a golden aura surrounded him and Harry.

There were gasps from several onlookers, and the Matron nodded her head in a brisk manner, taking a good look at the two of them. Glancing to the side, Devon noticed that the dark auburn hair was shortening, and he tightened his grip on Harry. He felt a brush of magic as the older witch took a step closer, and he reassured as he recognized the feel of a strong healing spell, a spark of blue flying off the still pulsing gold field. 

“May I ask who will be healing him?” she asked quietly, casting another healing spell as she did.

“Poppy Pomfrey,” the Potions master replied, equally quiet, as the dark auburn hair deepened to black.

She nodded and stepped back, gesturing everyone else back, as Devon concentrated and Disapparated.

hpsshpsshpss

The single torch from the other end of the ward threw long shadows around the Potions professor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, who sat vigil at the bedside of his soul mate. The teenager had regained his true appearance shortly after Devon had arrived in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, startling Dobby from his tea preparations. The diminutive creature had disappeared immediately when he was instructed to get Madam Pomfrey from Hogwarts, and Devon transfigured the kitchen table into a bed, unwilling to move Harry further. His Patronus message to Hermione and Ron, whom he assumed where still in Diagon Alley, brought a herd of Weasleys to assist him.

The Hogwarts mediwitch came through the Floo with a concerned Headmistress, who had insisted that Harry be immediately moved to the hospital wing. After he was stabilized, Devon had once again gathered his mate into his arms and stepped into the fireplace. The sharp eyes of the older witch flicked back and forth between their faces as he carried Harry through to his favorite bed. Minerva McGonagall followed closely at his heals, as did Ron and Hermione. Despite the suspicious glances he had received from Poppy Pomfrey, he refused to leave the teenager’s side. With a huff, Poppy had set to work completing the healing that had been started at St. Mungo’s, Devon silently helping pour the Blood-Replenishing Potion as well as a less potent form of Skele-Gro for the fractures in his skull and cheekbone.

Harry appeared to have lapsed into a coma. When he had not woken after treatment, the nurse had thrown everyone else out of the infirmary; Devon had refused to budge. After a long, assessing look, Pomfrey left him alone with terse instructions to alert her immediately should Harry awaken. After she had retired to her office, Devon eased his hip onto the side of the bed, clasping the limp hand in one of his while the other brushed the fringe back from his forehead. All the training they had engaged in had been magical in nature, from wordless and wandless magic to Occlumency; they had not considered the physical challenge of Muggle-style fighting. A swing by a desperate, frightened man with a sturdy staff had brought Harry to this state. 

Reaching gingerly past Harry’s mental barriers, Devon fought to stand strong against the waves of pain that buffered him, seeking a response of any kind from the teenager. No spark of the warm, loving personality was discernable, and Devon backed out slowly, leaving behind a resonance of the love that he felt toward young man. Too tired to hold his head up any longer, the Potions master allowed it to drop and his eyes to close. The stress and worry of the past twelve hours was enough to overwhelm him if he allowed it; the heart that he had discovered buried beneath the walls he had built threatened to break at the sight of the unnaturally still form in the bed. His eyes closed wearily, his hand still clasped in that of his mate.

A faint rustling sound worked itself into his consciousness just before a soft brush against his cheek brought his head up. Poppy Pomfrey stood beside him, studying his face with the same intensity as earlier, and there was something about the way her face was set that cautioned him. His fingers remained entwined with Harry’s when he raised his head to meet her narrowed eyes.

“Minerva believes that you and Harry are soul mates and may have already bonded. Is this true?” 

Her voice was quiet, but demanded an answer, and the hair on the back of Devon’s neck stood up. Pomfrey knew. 

“Yes, we are. We bound ourselves on his birthday.” He stood as he answered, drawing Albus Dumbledore’s wand from his sleeve.

The mediwitch’s eyes widened as she recognized the slender, pale wood, and Devon erected a series of the strongest privacy and silencing spells he could. He returned to stand by the occupied bedside, his gaze tense but open as he met the older woman’s hostile one.

“I need your wizard’s oath, Poppy; this information puts Harry in even more danger.”

“You have my oath, Severus.”

The Polyjuiced man employed all his hard-learned spying abilities to stop himself from showing any reaction to his name. He arched an eyebrow, waiting to see if there was to be an explosive reaction on the woman’s part. Instead, she flashed him a sad smile and stepped closer to the bed.

“Do you really think that after knowing you since you were eleven, I would not know you in any guise? As well, young man, you can’t believe that you were the only person Albus told of his plan, did you? Of course I knew he was dying, had since that awful night a year ago June…” The witch’s voice trailed off, and she leaned down to brush at the fringe on Harry’s forehead. “I swore Albus an oath as well, Severus, but I knew that he had planned to make the most of his death, and it was not hard to put it together once I realized what had happened.”

Sinking down on the edge of the bed, the Potions master felt a wave of relief at her words. He had not taken into consideration that the nurse would have to have known about the curse that had been slowly stealing the Headmaster’s life. Taking the limp hand in his own once again, he studied the pale face on the pillow, his mind racing through the events of the night Albus had discovered the Slytherin ring and Horcrux it contained. A light hand touched his shoulder. 

“I must admit that this situation with Harry surprises me in a number of ways, though. Not that you could develop feelings for Harry, mind you, remember, I have seen you standing in the shadows watching and protecting him over the year. Rather, that the angry, hurting teenager of just two months ago would agree to bond with you.” Pomfrey’s voice was quiet, but matter of fact. She paused. “And how am I to address you?”

“I am Devon Prince, Poppy, for the immediate future, and will be back this term teaching Potions,” Devon told her as he waved her into the chair beside the bed and began to relate the story of the last few weeks to her. “Minerva, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger are the only ones that know for certain what happened, but we believe that Remus Lupin has guessed, as Minerva asked him to investigate Albus’ death so that he could report the outcome to the Order.”

“In an effort to exonerate you?” Poppy still watched him closely.

“Possibly,” Devon responded dryly, curling his lip in a Snapish sneer. “More likely to keep my young mate from doing someone harm if they tried to apprehend me. His power has increased immensely since his coming of age.”

The witch nodded, a smile twitching at the corners of her lips. “Yes, I can feel that. Yours as well, I believe.”

“Indeed,” he said, allowing a satisfied smile to break through his reserve. A hiss of breath drew his attention back to the young man so still in the bed. 

Feeling the heat of Poppy’s brown eyes never lift from his face, Devon leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the lightning bolt scar that disfigured the smooth, pale forehead. He hated the slash of white that wrapped around one side of Harry’s head, covering the longer, tamer black hair. His fingers reached out of their own accord to tuck a slender strand of hair behind his ear. Allowing his fingers to linger, he traced the edge of the delicate shell, sinking briefly into their bond, seeking even a flicker of the awareness that would tell him his mate was in there, was still viable.

_‘I love you, my Harry.’_

Devon knew that Poppy Pomfrey was still studying him intently when he refocused his attention on the external world. With a slow hand she cupped his cheek and tilted his face up until their eyes met.

“Albus was right, you know. The great power Harry has pales in comparison to his capacity to love, and he loves fiercely. I have no doubt that he has come to love you without reservation, or Harry would not have chosen to bind his soul to yours.” The eyes held warmth normally hidden by the nurse. “Protect it well.”

The first comment to come to mind would have done Severus justice, but Devon throttled it before it could pass lips that had already started to curl. It might have been typical, even expected, of the old Potions master to sneer sarcastically in the face of a proclamation having anything to do with love, but Devon Prince would not. He nodded slightly and opened his mouth to respond when a wave of intense pain shot through the bond, and his jaw clenched. Harry’s body jerked. Arching his back, the teenager opened his mouth in a silent cry, and Devon shook off the pain as he leaned over to gather the young man in his arms. The mediwitch stepped forward, but Devon ignored her, sinking into the bond to find the source of his mate’s suffering. 

Before he could more than brush the barrier, it became apparent to Devon that Harry was protecting him even in his unconscious state, as the ‘window’ reverberated with waves of pain. Pulling back, Devon leaned down and lifted Harry against his chest. He murmured reassuringly as he carefully cradled the dark head. Harry gasped, his hands flailing outward, his body bowed and rigid, before finally sagging into his mate’s arms.

“S—Dev’n?” The teenager still lay very still against his chest.

“I’m here, Harry,” Devon assured him. “We are in the infirmary at Hogwarts with Madam Pomfrey.”

His eyelids were too heavy to lift, his head throbbed in excruciating pain, but Devon was with him. He tried to pull away, a whimper escaping at the tiny jolt that started a fresh round of pain. 

“Poppy knows, Harry, and we have erected a silencing ward. Can you tell me about the vision?” 

“Happy…” he started. His throat felt raspy and parched, and he swallowed the miniscule amount of saliva in his mouth. “… found locket… Tonk’s mum... dead…” His tenuous hold on consciousness failed and he slid back into the beckoning darkness.

* * *


	31. Goodbyes

“He will heal quite rapidly, I should think, Devon; he is in quite good shape. But I think you need to get him home, where you can take care of him.” Poppy Pomfrey clearly did not grasp the import of Harry’s words. “Where is home at the moment?”

“The house Albus left us,” Devon said grimly. He wanted to snap and snarl at someone, but held his tongue. “I will need you to assist me, as we have no Portkey, nor do I think he should Floo. I also need to speak with Minerva and Lupin immediately.” He looked down at the too pale face. “Where is that bloody bird when you need him?”

A flash of fire startled them both, and as if called by name, Fawkes appeared on the pillow beside Harry’s head, nudging his cheek affectionately. Checking to make sure Harry’s wand was secure in his pocket, Devon used his borrowed wand to cast a smaller, silver-winged serpent Patronus with a message for Hermione and Ron, and a second one for Minerva. They would be extremely concerned by his and Harry’s disappearance, he was sure. Gathering his mate to his chest, the phoenix settling on his shoulder, Devon glanced up at the mediwitch, his look questioning. Poppy stepped closer and took hold of the long, warm tail feather with him. 

In a flash of fire and a swirl of motion, they were in the sitting room of Dumbledore House, and Devon stood with his arms full of Harry’s dead weight. With a cluck of her tongue, the matron flicked her wand and levitated the teenager out of his grasp and looked around. Devon directed her toward the staircase just as the Floo flamed green and first Hermione, then Ron stepped through. Both were pale faced, their expressions haunted. A gasp from Hermione was their only reaction to the site that greeted them. The Floo flared again, this time spewing out Remus Lupin, and in a less abrupt manner, the Hogwarts Headmistress. With a glare, the mediwitch gestured to Devon, her meaning clear, and he led the way up to the bedroom he shared with the young man.

Ignoring the trail of witches and wizards that followed him, Devon helped the mediwitch to gently remove the teenager’s stained clothing and ease him into bed. With a hand on his forehead, Devon traced the lightning bolt scar with his thumb, and Harry stirred. No one watching the Polyjuiced man could mistake the tenderness in the caress. Hermione stepped to his side and laid a hand on his sleeve. They worked together to finish tending to the teenager, while the others stood silently as they settled Harry into bed. Poppy brushed them both aside to check on her patient. Dismissed, Devon turned to Remus Lupin.

“Harry’s defenses were down while he was unconscious, and he seems to have had a vision which involved Nymphadora Tonks’ mother. I believe she was killed.”

The amber eyes widened and Lupin nodded, his face pale. “I am sure she will be unaware for sometime, as the Dementors also hit the Ministry at the same time they targeted Diagon Alley. Although,” he glanced between Devon and Ron, “the Aurors were not as successful as the unidentified wizards in Diagon Alley.”

Ron paled when he heard this. “Was there any news of my dad, Professor?”

Lupin shook his head as he put his hand on Ron’s arm. “No, I am sorry, Ron, the only message I received was that the Ministry was under attack and there were several casualties before the Aurors managed to drive them off.”

“Perhaps you can get more information on the situation when you retrieve Tonks, Remus,” Minerva McGonagall said firmly, as she directed her former colleague towards the door. “Go take care of your fiancée, and let us know if you need anything.”

The rest of the assembled group was watching her escort Lupin out the door and toward the stairs when a moan was heard from the bed. Devon turned back to Harry just as the emerald eyes blinked open blurrily. The teenager groaned, trying to sit up. Sliding on to the bed beside him, Devon pressed a hand gently to his chest before carefully slipping a hand under his neck. Moving it up to support the back of his head, Devon held Harry against him as Poppy handed him a potion vial, and the teenager swallowed it obediently. Taking the goblet of water that Hermione produced, he pressed it to Harry’s lips, directing his mate to drink slowly.

“What happened?” Harry managed to ask in a raspy voice as Devon eased him back on to a stack of pillows.

“An overeager bystander tried to save the old man in Diagon Alley by swing a staff at a Dementor. Your head happened to get in the way,” Devon said, a bit of Snape snark in his tone. 

Poppy Pomfrey came into Harry’s line of vision as she leaned over the head of the bed to check the bandage on his head. His myopic eyes widened and he gave her a sheepish grin, knowing in an instant that Devon had somehow gotten him to his favorite mediwitch. The vision he had had came back full force in that moment; his stomach rolling, he tried to grab his head, but gentle hands restrained him, and he could feel Devon’s arms around him. The images retreated as he felt the strength of his life mate through the ever-deepening bond they shared. 

“My barriers must have slipped when I was unconscious, or maybe I pushed into Voldemort’s mind when I felt something…” Harry’s voice trailed off, his eyes blinking as he remembered the painful death of a woman he’d never met. “Somehow Andromeda Tonks found the locket in Muggle London, and she recognized it as one she had seen at her cousin’s, so she bought it.”

His breath caught in his chest and the steady throb in his head intensified as Harry remembered what he had seen as he lay helpless to block it out. The rage the evil bastard had felt as he raped the witch’s mind was nothing in comparison to the demented outrage that Bellatrix Lestrange unleashed on her own sister. The memory of the witch’s vile, spitting rage reminded Harry of the portrait of Sirius’ mother at Grimmauld Place as she spewed her pureblood bigotry, but the torture Bellatrix had inflicted on Andromeda Black Tonks made his stomach churn. He hoped fervently that Tonks never asked him about what he had seen, as it was one memory that he planned to bury deep inside his mental trunk. 

A reassuring hand stroked through his hair, and Harry allowed Devon to comfort him. Another vial was pressed to his lips; he recognized the Pain-Relieving potion, and his giddy mind stuck its tongue out at Severus Snape, snarky Potions master. Feeling amusement through the bond, Harry opened his eyes.

“Voldemort now believes that the Ministry must know about the Horcruxes, or at least the Order does,” Harry said, blinking his eyes at the blurry figures. “I don’t suppose my glasses survived, did they?”

Devon snickered, his breath warm on Harry’s ear. “Unfortunately not.”

“I didn’t think so. Anyway, it’s a bit murky, but I think he believes Slughorn told Dumbledore, who passed it on to the Ministry, or at least the Order Aurors, so they could search for them. Mundungus coming up with the locket made him believe the Order had found it, and Dung had nicked it from them. Needless to say, I think Slughorn is already dead, and Voldemort sent the Dementors to London to create a distraction, so that he could send someone into the Department of Mysteries.”

A particularly hard throb stopped him, and Harry tried to bring his hand up to press against the scar, but his arm was held firmly. Hermione, who was seated on the bed beside the pair, summoned Harry’s contacts from the bathroom and spelled them on with a flick of her wand.

“Thanks,” Harry smiled at her, unaware that it appeared to be more of a grimace with one side of his face still swollen from the blow he’d received. “That is about all I remember clearly.”

Poppy Pomfrey still stood beside the bed and looked down at him over Hermione’s shoulder, her keen eyes watching the interaction between the two men. Uncomfortable under the scrutiny, Harry unconsciously reached out to his mate through their bond, as well as pressing against him physically.

_‘It is alright, Harry, Poppy knows.’_

_‘You told her?’_ Harry was surprised, given the stringent secrecy the older man had insisted on concerning his identity.

 _‘She guessed, the meddlesome woman.’_ Embarrassment colored his admission, and Harry could not hide his amusement. 

“I thought these ‘visions’ of yours had stopped last year, Mr. Potter?” the mediwitch asked him. 

“Albus mentioned how relieved he was that you did not have to endure them any more,” Minerva McGonagall added.

Harry shrugged his shoulders. “They did stop, for almost a year, actually. It has been just the past month or so that they have started again.” He felt the hand on his arm tighten reassuringly. “At first, I thought it was because Voldemort wanted me see what he had done, as if to teach me a lesson or something.”

Madam Pomfrey’s dark eyes remained locked on his face. “What was the vision, if I may ask?”

“The torture and death of Draco Malfoy,” he said in a monotone voice.

A hand flew up to cover her mouth, and the nurse’s eyes grew sad as she glanced at the head of Slytherin house. “How terrible! Such a waste of a bright young man.”

“Indeed,” Devon bit out.

“I have been doing some research,” Hermione interjected. “It did seem quite strange to me that Voldemort would leave Harry alone for so long, when he knew that his manipulations had worked in the past.”

Ron rolled his eyes exaggeratedly at Hermione’s explanation. Harry almost laughed when his friend had started to speak, but sobered quickly when he remembered the steep cost of the last time Voldemort had fed a false image to him. He still thought about Sirius every day.

“And do tell, Miss Granger, what you have discovered,” Devon requested as he once more stroked a hand through Harry’s hair.

Hermione smiled sadly at him, as if she caught the tiny fissure of pain that creased his heart. “I have two theories actually, one is that Harry’s powers have increased to the point that he is actually stronger magically than Voldemort, and the blocks he put up against Harry’s involuntary invasions can no longer hold him off.”

She glanced up at Ron, who stood at the foot of the bed beside the Headmistress, and Harry felt a wave of impatience. “And…” he prompted.

“And, the second theory is that Voldemort is either slowly losing his powers or his control over them, and cannot keep his mind Occluded against you.” 

Harry squirmed a bit, always uncomfortable when his magical ability was discussed. He really had had no idea how powerful he was destined to be until he and Severus had bonded and the older man had shown him the magic throbbing beneath his skin. Both of them were now able to share the immense power, and the constant presence of his soul mate through the bond helped to ground the wild magic that surged whenever Harry became angry.

“My opinion of the Dark Lord’s mental stability not withstanding, I can assure you that your first theory seems more plausible, as Harry’s magical abilities have grown exponentially over the past month,” Devon told them, a touch of sarcasm in his tone.

“Heavens, Albus was right!” McGonagall said, a small smile carving the usually stern face. “He always felt that Harry would come into his full power when he came of age, and was concerned about his episodes of wild magic. What about the Occlumency lessons, will you resume those now?”

“Harry is quite an accomplished Occlumens now, Minerva, as are Ron and Hermione. We have been conducting lessons this summer, as it was the only way to protect my identity should one of them be captured. They know everything Harry knows.”

“Yes, that could present a problem,” the Headmistress said dryly.

“Heavens, I had not thought of that,” Poppy Pomfrey said as she continued to hover over Harry.

“I would be happy to Obliviate you, Poppy.” Harry snorted at the enthusiasm in his mate’s voice.

“I think not, Severus Snape! You will not have the opportunity to muck around in my mind!” the mediwitch told him adamantly.

“If you continue to call me that, Poppy, you will put us all at risk.”

“I am sorry, Devon. It is brand new to me, but I will make sure I address you only as Professor Prince; I was taught to close my mind against mental and emotional invasion during my training, so I believe if you would just test me, I will prove up to snuff.”

“Do you know what the Dark Lord did with the locket, Harry?” Devon asked Harry as his eyelids begin to droop.

Taking a minute, Harry tried to replay the memory, only to have pain interfere. “Why don’t you look at it with me?”

Opening the barrier, Harry sank back into the memory, allowing it to play out once more as Devon watched from a position where he could block the pain. The pain seemed to lessen as he shared the last part of the vision, and Harry was finally able to see that as Bellatrix repeatedly cursed her sister with the Cruciatus Curse, the Dark Lord had hung the locket around his own neck. At least it would be close by, Harry thought, as he became aware of his surroundings once again, and he could destroy it when he killed Voldemort. His head ached again, and Harry rested his head back against Devon, leaning into the hand that was still twined in his rumpled hair. 

“I think Harry needs to rest now,” Poppy told them in a voice that would brook no argument.

Hermione stood, and took Ron by the hand. “We need to Floo back to Grimmauld Place, I think, and make sure that Tonks and her dad are there. I think they will need to stay with our families and Remus there.”

Harry nodded his head slightly, more than happy to settle against his human pillow and allow sleep to take him. The conversation turned to Devon’s move into Hogwarts, as the teaching staff was due back in the castle, and the teenager let the dulcet tones of his mate lull him to sleep.

hpsshpsshpss

The next three days were spent close to home. Harry continued to rest under the threat of being magically bound to his bed. Even Ron had smiled at the evil smirk Devon had thrown at him, and the teenager had ceased his whinging, saving it for a more private moment. The couple completed the translations of the Parseltongue parchments and all four of them had learned the spells in Latin; Harry was still struggling to teach the others the tongue-twisting incantation to gather the pieces of a soul and focus it into a container. They had the spell that would bring soul fragments together to be reunited, but they still had not found the spell to prepare a vessel to receive the fragments.

Poppy had been added to the wards, and had continued to come each day to check on Harry, concerned about the latest blow to his head. She brought word from the Headmistress on the third day that there was to be an Order meeting at Grimmauld Place that evening, and Harry would have to rest during the day if he wanted to attend. Funeral arrangements had been made for Andromeda Tonks for the following day at a Black family plot in Sussex, and the Order would be there in full force to guard it. The mediwitch let the teenager know in no uncertain terms what she thought of him putting his head in harm’s way, but her hands were gentle as she took the wrappings off his head and replaced it with a much smaller one. The side of Harry’s face was still a lovely shade of purple, but the swelling had gone down and he felt almost normal again.

The sound of the Floo activating had Harry out of his chair and into the sitting room without thought. Severus had been summoned early that morning; he had left in his Polyjuiced form for the first time, Flooing to Spinner’s End with Dumbledore’s wand in hand. Harry stepped out of the kitchen in time to see the Potions master stumble out of the fireplace, and managed to catch him before he fell. Ron was instantly as his side, and helped maneuver the injured man to the couch. The mediwitch brushed both of them out of the way, clucking her tongue in dismay at the man as she began to examine him.

Hermione gently restrained Harry, directing him to sit in the chair where he could see what Madam Pomfrey was doing. With a reassuring hand on his shoulder, she stood silently, lending him moral support as Ron moved to the kitchen for tea and a goblet of water. Dobby was at Grimmauld Place, directing Kreacher and making arrangements for the Order meeting that evening. Harry, who had become the Secret Keeper upon the Headmaster’s death, had written out the address on thirty slips of parchment in what Devon called his ‘pathetic scrawl’.

A movement out of the corner of his eye had Harry glancing at the portrait on the wall. Albus Dumbledore sat in his chair, watching the matron work on Devon, but before Harry could acknowledge him, a groan from the couch diverted his attention. Shaking off Hermione’s restraining hand, he slid to his knees beside Devon’s head, one hand brushing the long, golden hair out of the man’s face. Pain-filled eyes focused on him and a corner of his lips quirked up.

“A pathetic display of affection, Potter?” his mate whispered in a sardonic tone.

Harry smiled, and leaned down to kiss swollen and bloody lips gently. “Git.” He held the goblet of water gingerly to the older man’s mouth, allowing him to sip at it before doing the same with the potion Madam Pomfrey gave him.

“It would appear you ran afoul of Lord Voldemort, Devon,” Albus Dumbledore addressed him from the portrait. “If you believe that the risk is not worth the effort…”

“No!” Devon attempted to sit up, and was stopped more by the glare directed at him by the mediwitch than Harry’s hand on his chest. “No, Albus, I was punished for my impertinence in suggesting he prepare your wand as a Horcrux container, and because I could not show him any real progress in courting Harry. That, and I was not at Spinner’s End when he sent Bellatrix to check on me.”

“I am sure tonight and tomorrow will afford you an opportunity to show some progress.” The clear blue eyes twinkled merrily. “He still believes that you alone can hand him Harry, I imagine.”

“Indeed, and I will use the opportunity cautiously, as there seems to be a spy within the Order who is reporting back on my progress.”

Harry’s hand moved to grip Devon’s shoulder, causing the man to wince. “You mean someone who has seen us lately?”

“Yes, that is what the Dark Lord alluded to.” Devon’s voice was strengthened as he continued, “Someone familiar enough to be invited to Andromeda’s funeral tomorrow.”

The burial ceremony for Tonks’ mother was to be private, and discussion security arrangements were part of the evening’s Order meeting. Harry had seen the young Auror only once since the murder, and had been surprised to be swept into a hard embrace by the witch, but had found himself holding her tight in return, the freshness of his own unexpressed grief over Sirius still heavy in his chest. Remus Lupin had stood in the background, unsure how to approach the young man he had never bothered to comfort the past summer, lost as he was in his own grief. Harry had stepped away as he felt his resolve crumbling, knowing it was Tonks’ turn to grieve, not yet his.

“Help me get him upstairs, Harry, and you both can rest until it is time for dinner,” Poppy told him, stepping back from the couch, silencing his protests with a look. “It is the only way I will allow you to attend this ridiculous meeting later.”

“Now, Poppy, you know how important this is—” the portrait cajoled her, only to be cut off in mid-sentence.

“Oh, do shut up, Albus! You are as manipulative dead as you were alive.” With a sniff at the astonished look the Headmaster wore, she disappeared into the Floo.

Both Harry and Devon were still laughing as they made their way up the stairs.

hpsshpsshpss

Harry tried to concentrate on the meeting, but his opinion was not sought nor did he have anything to offer as the arrangements were laid out for the next day. His eyes flitted from one face to another, some of which he recognized and some he did not. There were over thirty people in the magically expanded kitchen, including all of the Weasleys, the Grangers, and most of the Hogwarts professors. Devon Prince sat next Filius Flitwick, across from Harry, and they had already exchanged several long glances. With a sweet smile and a bit of bedevilment, Harry sent his mate the image of the two of them entwined in the Prefect’s Bath. The Potions master’s cheeks flushed and he looked up in time to catch Harry’s eye.

 _‘Naughty, naughty, Mr. Potter!’_ Devon scolded him before sending back an image of Harry bent over the desk in the Potions classroom with the dark-haired Severus Snape pounding into his eager arse.

The heat that flared in his face was enough to convince anyone looking that the unusually shy Harry Potter found the newest Hogwarts professor more than interesting. Moving together to stand in one corner of the room in quiet conversation as most of the attendees filled up the stairs towards the front door, Devon reached out and laid a casual hand on Harry’s arm, appearing to anyone watching like he was making some type of a point.

“You will find yourself at my mercy when we return to Hogwarts in a few days time,” he hissed through a smile, “and I intend to fulfill both those little fantasies, you cheeky little bra—” 

“I don’t believe there is anything little about it,” Harry smiled back mischievously as he watched the room empty over Devon’s shoulder.

“Harry, can I have a word?” A subdued Nymphadora Tonks moved to join them, her eyes running over Devon in an assessing way.

“Hi, Tonks,” Harry said as he smiled sadly at her, taking in the mousey brown hair and shadowed eyes.

An older man Harry had met earlier, Ted Tonks, and Remus Lupin stood behind the Auror, both watching Devon. The golden-haired man returned their scrutiny steadily, and it was apparent to Harry that Remus had not told his fiancée of his suspicions regarding Devon Prince. Relaxing, Harry gave Tonks his full attention.

“It is traditional for the head of a family to give a the first eulogy at a funeral, Harry, and as Head of the Black family, Dad and I were hoping you would say a few words tomorrow.”

Harry struggled to keep his face from falling, and he felt Devon step closer in support. The eyes that met his were hopeful, and Harry could see how important this was, even for a witch as untraditional as Tonks presented herself to be. He knew he could not say no.

“Um, sure, Tonks, but I didn’t really know your mum…”

Remus stepped forward, sliding an arm around the young woman. “If you would like, Harry, I can put together a bit of a speech for you.”

“Yes,” Harry nodded a bit nervously, “please, I would appreciate it.”

“Remus and I were talking, Harry, and we would like to erect a memorial for Sirius as well tomorrow, an acknowledgement of his life,” Tonks said with a smile, obviously believing Harry would be pleased. “He and Mum were great friends when they were growing up, and I am sure she would want that.”

A pain, deep and heavy arose in his chest. To acknowledge Sirius’ life, Harry would have to admit that he was truly dead. All at once, the despair he had managed to shove to the back of his consciousness, the guilt and overwhelming loss he had never really acknowledged, flooded through him. His hands began to tremble, but he managed to smile at Tonks, holding it together by sheer will.

“Yes, that would be lovely, Tonks, and I’ll leave the arrangements to you as you see fit.” He took a step back and collided with Devon.

“Tonks, my condolences on your loss, and you as well, Mr. Tonks,” Devon told them formally, wrapping an arm around Harry’s shoulder as he felt the façade start to crumble. “Lupin, I think I need to get Harry home.”

Uncaring who might still be watching, Devon ignored the few people left in the room. With a strength born of desperation, he swept Harry into his arms like a child and stepped to the Floo. Stepping out into the sitting room of Dumbledore House, he managed to get them to the couch before a great sob was wrenched from Harry’s throat. Having seen the memories in his mate’s mind, the older man knew Harry had never grieved for his godfather, had never spoken about what had happened that night in the Department of Mysteries, and to this day had nightmares of Black falling through the veil. The sob was quickly stifled, and the hands fisted in the front of his robes tightened as Harry buried his face in the warm flesh of his throat. 

“Let it out, Harry. I have you and will keep you safe.”

“Hurts…” came the muffled response.

Devon closed his eyes against his own memories. “I know it hurts, but if you don’t purge it from your soul, then you will become the same cold, sarcastic shell that I did when I failed to grieve my mother’s death. It will eat you inside until you are empty, Harry. Would Black have wanted that?” 

“But it was my fault,” Harry lifted his face just enough to whisper in an anguished voice. “I sent Sirius to his death because I was too stupid, too arrogant to learn to block my mind!”

“I am partly to blame for that. I did not teach you Occlumency, you must blame me as well,” he said urgently, striving to find the right thing to say to comfort Harry.

“I did blame you, Severus! I hate you for not showing me how to clear my mind, how to block the vision! That was until I realized that I had not even tried, and that I LIKED the visions, liked knowing what Voldemort was doing; because it made me feel that I was finally finding out what was going on, because it made me feel special!” Harry spat out with self-loathing. “And it was my fault my godfather died, and my friends, who BELIEVED in me, were hurt!”

Devon could feel the terrible pain that ripped through his young mate, and the desperate grip he held on his emotions. “It’s all right Harry, let go,” he whispered, “I am right here to catch you if you fall.”

Despite being in the sitting room, Devon banished their clothes with a wave of his hand, and summoned a light blanket, knowing he was sacrificing privacy for the reassuring warmth of the fire. Enlarging the couch, he settled onto his back, pulling Harry on top of him, skin against skin, before he covered them, never stopping his reassuring murmurs. One hand cupped the back of the teenager’s head, fingers stroking lightly through the soft hair, mindful of the still tender scalp, while the other hand rubbed gently up and down his spine. 

Harry’s tenuous grasp on control snapped, and he let out an inhuman wail of pain and grief, allowing his emotions to swamp him. His last conscious thought as great wracking sobs shook him was that Severus was there and would keep him safe, and he gave himself up to the maelstrom.

Devon did not know how much time passed before the last of the sobs quieted and the tears stopped flowing. He had continued to comfort the teenager, even when he knew Harry was unaware of anything but his touch. Several times the Floo had flared green; Minerva, Hermione, and surprisingly, Lupin had all come to check on them before sending Poppy Pomfrey for a professional assessment. She had quietly checked them both over, surprised at one point when the almost silent young man began sobbing again. Leaving a vial of Dreamless Sleep on the table, she stopped to lay a gentle hand on the dark hair.

“So much pain for one so young,” she muttered, before turning to leave.

 _Yes, so much pain, and never an opportunity to purge himself of it_ , the Potions master thought, pressing a kiss to a wet cheek. Harry lifted his head to look at him through reddened eyes.

“Thank you,” he muttered before settling his head back down and pressing his face into the warm throat. “I love you, Devon.”

“And I you, Harry,” the older man whispered back before he followed his life mate into sleep.

* * *


	32. Rest In Peace

* * *

Harry looked out over the small assemblage of people, all dressed in their best robes. For once the sun shone brightly in the Sussex sky, making Harry glad that the gathering was shaded by the tall trees that surrounded the Black Family burial plot. Harry had given his permission for both Andromeda and her cousin, Sirius, to be honored in the plot, despite Sirius having been disowned by the family many years before. The teenager thought it only fitting that the pair have the chance to thumb their noses at the bigotry they had endured for much of their lives. In his hand, he held a scroll of parchment that Remus Lupin had given him when he had arrived with Hermione and Ron. Devon had arrived separately with Headmistress McGonagall, Filius Flitwick, and several other teachers, his eyes immediately seeking the teenager.

After the ravages of the previous night’s crying jag had been soothed away the by a nap, Harry and Devon had spoken late into the night. There had been unresolved issues between them brought up by this most recent death, and Harry was determined not to go another day without at least discussing them. They had discussed their opposing feelings so that they would not cause them fuller heartache: the Marauders had been a group of students that had made Severus’ life at Hogwarts miserable at times, but two of them, James Potter and Sirius Black, were the subjects of some of Harry’s had few good memories. Harry acknowledged that there were portions of the Potions master’s past that were none of his business unless Severus chose to discuss them, as were some of Harry’s memories of his treatment by the Dursleys. With the depth of the bond they shared, they had each seen the other’s memories, but most of Severus’ had been shadowy images that Harry had only glimpsed briefly. 

There was a common bond of loneliness and deep insecurity that the two men shared, instilled at an early age by those closest to them, Tobias Snape and the Dursleys. This was further weighted by the unresolved grief each of them harbored, and Harry had cried again at the thought of losing even more of the people he had come to love. Devon, with the help of the Polyjuice transformation, was able to do what Severus had never allowed himself to do, and mourned the death of his mother. They had huddled in each other’s arms, drawing comfort and support as they dozed off and on through the remainder of the night. With the term starting within days and the war against Voldemort heating up, Harry knew they, along with Ron and Hermione, would have to keep each other sane; he knew there would be other deaths they would have to endure. 

His eyes swept over the crowd once again. The sun peeped out from behind a single puffy white cloud, and Harry thanked whatever deity was responsible for allowing them a day without the Dementors’ influence. Pausing fractionally as his gaze landed on the impassive face of Devon Prince, who stood at the left of a grim looking Minerva McGonagall, he felt a surge of reassurance through their bond. Not allowing himself to linger on the familiar profile, Harry continued his scan, making eye contact with most of the small group of twenty or so people, wondering which of them was the traitor in this gathering of mostly the Old Guard, as Dumbledore had called them. Hermione smiled at him in encouragement as she clung to Ron’s arm, the somber redhead standing tall against the blue sky; both of their features had lost the softness of childhood. Ron’s parents stood just behind them, flanked by Fred and George in identical maroon robes.

He cleared his throat, spreading the roll of parchment out, and looked down at the neat printing, the lines blurring slightly in the bright sunlight. The words would be artificial and stiff if he tried to read them, despite his father’s friend’s natural eloquence, and Harry slowly lowered the paper. The carefully scripted speech crumpled in his nervous fingers, while Harry took a deep breath and squared his shoulders.

“I did not have the pleasure of ever meeting Andromeda Tonks, but I knew of her through her daughter, Nymphadora, and her cousin, Sirius Black. My godfather described her as his favorite cousin, a sweet, loving girl who became a strong witch. She defied the childhood teachings of pureblood mania that came with being raised in the Black family, and chose her own path in life by marrying Ted Tonks, even though she knew it would result in being disowned. Sirius told me that it was her courage that inspired him to also live his life on the side of the Light and oppose the Dark magic his family had supported for centuries.”

“Voldemort,” he began, ignoring the shudders as his eyes moved around the faces of the people gathered around them, watching for a more specific reaction, “is responsible for the deaths of both these wonderful people, and Andromeda’s own sister was the instrument of their murders. I can’t help but believe that Sirius had a purpose when he made me his heir and the new head of the Black family, and I will use that to tell you Bellatrix Black Lestrange is no longer part of this family!” 

One of the older witches in the back of the crowd flinched at his words, her blood-red robes setting her apart from the dark colors most of the mourners wore, and Harry tucked that fact away in his mind as he continued.

“The murder of her own sister as well as her cousin is reprehensible, and I have decided as the legal head of the Black family that Bellatrix has been disinherited.”

There was a slight rustling in the crowd as Harry made his announcement, knowing there were ramifications within magical law of his formal words. He knew his announcement would infuriate the bitch.

“I ask you to join Mister Tonks and his daughter in celebrating the wonderful life of this courageous woman. I would also ask you pause for a moment and remember a man who was wrongly accused of betraying his best friend, and who gave his life fighting to defend that same friend’s son. A man who was falsely imprisoned for twelve years without a trial, escaping Azkaban to protect a foolish thirteen-year-old from a murderer. A man who never had a chance to live his own life, but never let me doubt in the two brief years I had him that I mattered to him that I was loved for just being Harry. I miss you, Sirius.”

Harry stepped aside, bowing his head as Ted Tonks stepped forward to speak about his wife, his daughter and her fiancé at his side. A succession of people took the opportunity to say a few words, but Harry did not hear them, lost as he was in his thoughts of his godfather. Sirius would have scoffed at this, Harry was sure; he had not been one for emotional displays, and would have more likely picked a bottle of firewhisky and a dark pub for a wake, given his own choice. The maroon marble marker etched in gold would have matched the flush of Sirius’ cheeks, Harry thought with a grin as he switched his weight from one foot to the other, but the huge black dog that ran around the base would have amused him.

 _‘Harry?’_ A worried inquiry gently prodded him through the bond.

 _‘I am fine, just remembering,’_ Harry told his mate, but he lifted his head and gave Tonks the attention she deserved as she talked about her mum.

It was a small, subdued group that gathered at Grimmauld Place for tea late that afternoon. Harry glanced around the room when he Floo'd in from the Leaky Cauldron with Ron and Hermione, having Apparated there from Sussex. Molly Weasley was helping Hermione’s mum to set out food on the table. Dobby was unusually quiet as he set a large teapot on the table, sensitive to the emotions filling the room. The restlessness that had come over Harry as he stood in the graveyard disappeared as soon as he felt Devon Prince step into the room, followed closely by the red-robed witch Harry had noticed at the service. The woman’s light brown hair was streaked with blonde, and Harry did not readily recognize her. He moved casually over to the plates of tea sandwiches and biscuits. He had no appetite, but it would put him closer to those he considered his family.

“Harry!” 

A familiar voice called to him from behind, and as he turned Harry found his arms filled with the sweet-smelling, slender form of Ginny Weasley. Gathering her tightly against him, Harry buried his face in her fragrant hair. The scent and warmth equaled comfort to him, and he allowed himself to bask in it for a moment. At her mother’s insistence, the youngest of the Weasleys had been in France for the past month, staying with her new sister-in-law while Bill received treatment. Molly’s desire to keep her only daughter safe was obvious to all of them, and Ginny had allowed it, Harry knew. A sharp jolt of jealousy struck him through the bond before it was quelled, and Harry smiled into the ginger hair as he sent reassurances to his husband, opening his feelings to the other man’s scrutiny.

“Are you truly all right, Harry?” Ginny whispered in his ear, her concern evident.

“Yes,” he said as he kissed the top of her head, “more than I ever would have believed.”

Ginny pulled back and smiled up at him with only a trace of the sadness visible in her eyes. She had realized after Dumbledore’s funeral that she would never be what Harry needed, and had moved on, leaving Harry with only a residue of the guilt he had initially felt over their break-up. Underneath that guilt, though, had been the niggling question in the back of his mind as to whether Ginny had ever truly seen ‘Harry’, or whether she had simply been in love with the idea of being with the Boy Who Lived. 

“I hear you have a bit of a crush on the new Potions professor, and I can only hope that he is better than the last two!” she whispered in his ear.

Harry winced at that, giving her another hug before stepping back and looping her arm through his. “Yes, actually, I do think he is a good looking bloke, Ginny, and he is right over there. Why don’t I introduce you?”

He pulled her over to where Devon stood beside Professor McGonagall, her black and green tartan robes falling gracefully to the floor. After greeting the Headmistress, Harry turned a shy smile on the Potions master, still holding Ginny’s hand, wanting her ‘first’ impression of his husband to be a good one.

“Professor Devon Prince, may I present Ginevra Weasley, Ron’s sister.” He looked down at the bright brown eyes before continuing, “Ginny, this is Professor Prince.”

Untangling her hand from Harry’s, Ginny offered it to Devon, giggling when he bent down to brush his lips over her knuckles in the continental manner. 

“A pleasure, Miss Weasley.” Devon smiled at her as he moved to stand closer to Harry.

They made conversation for several minutes before Ron and Hermione drifted over, the young woman’s face showed her worry at the paleness of Harry’s face. Devon met her eyes, allowing her to see his concern as well, and moved fractionally closer to his mate. It would not do to appear overly familiar; blood-red robes brushed at the periphery of his vision, and he knew the witch Harry had pointed out at the services was once again watching them. He had placed her after some thought as Eithne Vance, the younger sister of Emmeline Vance, who had been killed in a particularly horrendous Death Eater raid the previous summer. The witch had been on the fringes of the Order of the Phoenix for the past several years, brought in by her sister, but not particularly active in the organization. 

A throb of pain lanced through the bond, an echo of what Harry was feeling in his scar, Devon knew. _‘I think it is time we left,’_ he told the teen, well aware that this group of Order members most certainly contained a spy.

 _‘I’ll Floo from here and meet you at the house,’_ Harry answered with relief, leaning forward to kiss Hermione’s cheek before moving toward Tonks and Remus. 

Devon continued to speak to Ron and Hermione, his eyes following Harry as he said his goodbyes to the couple, as well as Molly and Arthur Weasley, before making his way to the fireplace. At the flare of green, Devon turned to see the Vance woman watching him closely, and with a smirk on his face, he brushed by her without acknowledging the witch’s attempt to speak. Whether she was a spy or just a chit blinded by Harry’s ‘celebrity’, Devon had no time for her. The prickling pain in Harry’s scar could be a precursor to a full vision, and he felt he needed to be there with the teenager. 

“Devon?” Remus spoke louder than necessary, beckoning him with a hand. 

With a slight frown, he made his over to where Minerva McGonagall had joined Tonks and Lupin, fighting the sneer that would normally grace his face. As if summoned as well, Ron and Hermione casually moved to join them. Remus, smiling and clasping Devon’s hand as if in a goodbye gesture, leaned closer.

“There are rumblings in the clans that Greyback has something planned at the full moon on Sunday, and the whispers all center on Harry and Hogwarts.” 

Devon made a show of gripping Lupin’s forearm with his free hand. “I return to Hogwarts in the morning, as the term begins in two weeks.” He leaned closer to Nymphadora Tonks and added quietly, “I will endeavor to keep both safe.” 

The Potions master inclined his head to the Headmistress, who nodded back in acknowledgement. He knew that he did not need to speak to Ron or Hermione, who would be joining them at Dumbledore House in preparation for the move tomorrow. Feeling no other spikes of pain through the bond, he made his way across the kitchen at a sedate pace, nodding to the Weasleys and the Grangers as he headed up the stairs.

hpsshpsshpss

Harry stood under the hot spray of water, his arms braced against the shower wall, willing it to wash away the aches the tension of the day had created in his neck and shoulders. His scar still periodically prickled hard enough to make his eyes water, but Harry was unable to discern anything else about Voldemort’s activities. Tilting his head back, he let the spray pound his head, soothing the scar that split his forehead, his mind roving over the memories of the six weeks since the end of term. So much had happened since Fawkes had appeared in Dudley’s second bedroom and transported him to this very house. The anger and hatred had been so strong that day when he saw Severus Snape sitting slumped in the leather chair had begun an emotional upheaval in Harry that left him dizzy at times, but overall much stronger in the long run, he believed.

Aided by the Pensieve memories of Albus Dumbledore and the genuine, heart-wrenching grief that Severus had suffered, renewing the trust he had in the Potions master, which had been shattered at the top of the Astronomy Tower that night, had taken less time than Harry would have thought possible. The bond that had begun to form spontaneously between them had initially been a shock, but as Harry had grown to know and love the older man, he had begun to see qualities in Severus that he recognized in himself, including the deep-seated insecurity and desire to be loved. A smile began to build as the water drummed on the top of his head, and the deep love he had found seemed to hum through him like the magical energy that love had released. 

There was so much yet to do in the battle to defeat Voldemort: tracking down the illusive Horcrux spell, acquiring the Horcruxes already in existence, and protecting themselves against the vicious attacks of the Dark Lord. Harry was almost looking forward to the term starting in less than two weeks, as he could take a few days to relax and not have to worry about anything more than making it to classes and doing the assigned homework. So much had happened in the month and a half; he could use some monotony, he mused. The death and destruction of the previous year had taken its toll on him. How many more would die before he was ready to challenge Voldemort? Who else would he lose before he was able to collect and destroy the Horcruxes that were still unaccounted for? Ron, Hermione, Ginny, their parents? How would he deal with that guilt on his conscience? Albus Dumbledore’s face flitted through his mind, the blue eyes filled with pain and anguish as they had been that night in June when Harry forced him to drink that foul potion on a lump of rock in the middle of a lake of Inferi.

A familiar hand swept lightly along the plane of his shoulders, and the maudlin thoughts retreated to the far reaches of Harry’s mind. The brush of lips along his collarbone made him groan, and Harry let his head drop back against the heat he felt behind him, a fall of raven hair catching his eye.

“Severus,” he breathed, his heart hitching in his chest, the water beating on his torso as he leaned back into his mate.

“I thought you might like me this way for our last night here,” Severus whispered in his ear. He let his fingertips trail down Harry’s chest and across the flat abdomen toward his rapidly hardening penis.

With a groan, Harry tried to hurry the hand, only to whimper when Severus reached for the soap and began to wash him with slow, sure strokes. By the time Harry was pressed against the wet tile and those marvelous fingers were massaging soap into his skin down his back and along the curve of his arse, he was sobbing with pleasure. Severus dropped to his knees to wash one leg and then the other, and Harry almost climaxed as he felt open-mouth kisses pressing against the back of his thighs and along the sloping curves upward. That wonderful Roman nose pressed between his cheeks, and Harry lost the ability to breathe. Just when he thought he could not take it for another second, Severus pulled away from him and stood, shoving the shampoo into Harry’s hands with instructions to wash his hair. 

Stepping back into the spray, Harry did as he was instructed, trying to watch as those long, slender fingers coated the pale skin with white, soapy bubbles. The suds ran down the older man’s chest, trickling through the fine hair on the lean chest, and along the arrow that trailed down to his erection. Dropping to his knees, Harry could not resist engulfing the deep red tip, his hands coming around to anchor himself on Severus’ cheeks. A gasp from above delighted him, and those long, slender fingers wove into his still soapy hair as Harry did his best to swallow his delicious treat, loving the feeling of their magic tingling along his skin wherever they touched. 

He was suddenly drawn to his feet. Lifted and pressed back against the cool tiles, Harry stared into the obsidian eyes he had come to love so deeply, and wrapped his legs around the slender hips as Severus lowered his head. Their lips met in a kiss that was a tender reaffirmation of their bond before it turned hungry. Leaning into him, Severus aligned their bodies as his mouth continued to devour Harry’s. One hand threaded into long dark hair and the other wrapped around their erections as Severus thrust against him. The tingling raced through the length of their cocks, and Harry tightened his grip as he stroked them both, the friction delicious. The bond between them opened and sensations flooded through his already aroused body. A long finger breeched him, and Harry gasped as his climax crashed over him in waves, pulling Severus pulled with him.

Hair damp but soap-free, the couple were reclining on the sofa, Harry with his head on Severus’ bare chest, sharing a glass of red wine when the Floo activated. Hermione stepped out of the fireplace, her face splitting in a wide smile as she took in the pair on the sofa. Ron stumbled out behind her and gaped as he caught sight of Severus Snape. The well-timed jab into the ribs seemed to bring Ron out of his shock, and he hung his head was he caught the look of disappointment that flashed across Harry’s face.

“Sorry, mate, it just startled me for a minute. I apologize S—Severus.” Ron had the grace to look ashamed.

“No offense taken, Ronald.” Severus inclined his head and gestured with the wine glass toward the parchment lying on the low table. “If you are not over-tired, we could go over the list of things that we must accomplish when we return to Hogwarts tomorrow.”

Ron sat in Harry’s chair and tugged Hermione down into his lap, wrapping his arms around her waist as she snuggled back against him. Harry hid a smile as he watched, enjoying the knowledge that his two friends needed the reassurance of being held just the way he had. Accepting the goblet of wine from Severus, he sipped it thoughtfully. A piece of a memory niggled at the back of his mind when he thought of the school.

“Severus, how nice it is to see you!” The portrait of Albus Dumbledore walked back into his frame. “Minerva wanted me to assure you that all was ready for your arrival tomorrow. Kreacher was sent by Dobby back to Grimmauld Place to gather anything left behind there, and Dobby himself has already moved most of what you will need from here.”

Fawkes trilled softly from his perch as he heard his former master’s voice, and Hedwig lifted her head in interest as the phoenix flew to the back of the sofa, hopping closer until he could play with the long strands of raven hair resting there. Harry stifled a laugh at his lover’s long suffering expression, squeezing the cotton-covered thigh under his hand. 

“Pestilent bird,” the Potion master muttered, lifting a hand to stroke the warm chest feathers.

“Did Remus mention the werewolf unrest, Severus?” the Headmaster asked, smiling at the interaction between the two.

A sliver of concern ran through the bond as the Potions master nodded, and Hermione shot Harry a knowing look. They had wondered when the werewolves and giants would make their appearance, especially after the Dementor attack on Diagon Alley. With a sinking feeling, Harry thought of the Hogwarts Express as it pulled out of London, and he felt the hand at his waist tighten fractionally. They all anticipated some type of attack two weeks from Sunday, but at least it would not be a full month, but a new moon rising as the train pulled into Hogsmeade station. The students, at least, were safe from that threat.

“Yes, Albus, and with the full moon in two days, it is best we are safely ensconced at Hogwarts.”

“What does Greyback hope to accomplish with these attacks, Severus?” Hermione asked, her forehead creased in thought.

“Fenrir Greyback takes perverse delight in preying on children, Hermione. By giving him free reign publicly, the Dark Lord can use the fear and intimidation to prevent any resistance to his true goal.”

“So if word gets out that Greyback has plans to launch a werewolf attack somewhere Sunday night, then everyone will stay home,” Hermione said thoughtfully.

“And leave everything else deserted with minimal protection, so that Voldemort can go forward with whatever his real plan is,” Ron added, ever the strategist.

“Precisely,” Dumbledore seemed pleased with their conclusions, “which may well be to check the status of the other Horcruxes.”

“He knows about the ring, and he already has the locket, so that means the Hufflepuff cup or the Gryffindor dagger,” Harry supplied, snippets of the vision he had had when he was injured coming back, blurry and just out of reach. “I think…”

His words trailed off as he tried to remember. Slender fingers wove into his hair, gently carding through it in a reassuring gesture, and Harry closed his eyes to concentrate.

“The Chamber of Secrets,” he said with sudden clarity. “We need to make sure the Chamber is secure.” 

“Indeed, it does make a more likely target than Godric’s Hollow at this point.”

“I though we already did that, though, last time we were there,” Ron said, puzzled.

“We did, mate, but not against animals,” Harry replied grimly as the image of a great green serpent slithered through his mined.

“Nagini,” Severus stated, “or any number of unregistered Animagi.”

Hermione leaned forward and tapped the parchment sitting on the table with her finger. “Then the Chamber will be our first priority tomorrow morning, which will give us another chance to look at Slytherin’s papers.”

“What about the Wolfsbane Potion, Professor?” Ron blurred out, as if the idea had just hit him as he looked at Severus. “Could you brew enough for all the werewolves?”

The redhead’s lapse brought a smile to Harry’s face, and he felt the amusement in his mate. Hermione smothered a laugh as she rolled her eyes at the teen.

“Thank you for your faith in my brewing skills, Mr. Weasley, but while it is a difficult potion to make, I am hardly the only person capable of that duty,” the Potions master snarked.

Harry elbowed him in the ribs. “Git! You could have just told him that Dobby took Remus the batch you made on Monday.”

Severus managed to look affronted, even as Harry’s fingers stroked his inner thigh out of sight, and others laughed, lightening the mood. Dobby chose that moment to pop in with a late tea, and the conversation turned to the start of term. With the increased security measures, the Headmistress had deemed it safe enough to go ahead with Quidditch, and Severus even joined in a spirited argument about the Quidditch Cup. A pang of sadness hit Harry as he realized that Draco Malfoy would not be there to infuriate him, another senseless victim of a madman, and Severus tugged him closer, sharing his sorrow.

hpsshpsshpss

The quartet Flooed directly to the dungeons the next morning, leaving Dobby to take care of the last minute things at the house, and arranged for Fawkes and Hedwig to join them in the Potions master’s rooms. Harry had held tightly to Severus that morning as he had taken the modified Polyjuice Potion, sharing the discomfort of the transformation with him, and kissing him even as his lips changed from thin to full. It would be two weeks before they would need to be at King’s Cross Station, and Molly Weasley had tearfully asked that they all spend the night of August 31st at Grimmauld Place. Ginny had owled Neville and Luna, inviting them to join them, and Harry could not help but grin as he thought of his friends’ reaction to his new ‘boyfriend’.

Clad in jeans and jumpers, they made their way down the forgotten hallway at the far end of the dungeons and slipped through the door that Harry opened with a hiss. 

“Lumos,” he whispered as the stepped into the passageway hewed out of solid rock. The damp, musty smell made his nostrils twitch. 

The others followed his lead, silently picking their way through the gloom toward the main corridor into the Chamber. Something was off; both Harry and Devon could feel it, and were wary as they silently exchanged warnings. The carved serpents at the entrance came to life in an exuberant greeting as Harry addressed them in Parseltongue, opening the bond fully to allow Devon to understand them as well. The ambient magic also seemed to welcome him back as it had with each subsequent visit that summer, a warm brush of magic skittering across his flesh as they stepped through the portal. Today there was something different in the wash of energy, something tense and cautious, pulling him inside. 

The torches flared to life, illuminating the vast stone Chamber, and Harry followed the tug at his senses. Devon flanked him in silence. Hermione slipped to his left side silently, and Ron was a pace behind, bringing up the rear. A miniscule ripple in the magic within the Chamber alerted Harry. Letting the magic guide him, he waved the others behind him, into the alcove that guarded the entrance to Slytherin’s inner room. Closing his eyes, Harry envisioned the magic around him, and began to weave an Imperturbable barrier around them, layering it with a Disillusionment Charm, a Silencing Spell, and a Notice-Me-Not Spell. A swallowed gasp from Hermione made his eyes snap open just as a large grey rat scurried across the stone floor from the rear of the Chamber, where the passage led to the Forbidden Forest entrance. 

Pausing momentarily at the foot of the statue of Salazar Slytherin, the rat sat back on its haunches, twitching its nose as if testing the air, a silver paw flashing in the torchlight. Harry froze when he saw it.

_‘Wormtail! Bloody hell, Severus, we are too late!’_

_‘No, I think he just got here, and he will not be able to get into the inner sanctuary, as it is far better sealed that this room. I would have to think Pettigrew is here simply to make sure nothing has been done to prevent the Dark Lord entry,’_ the older wizard assured him, laying a restraining hand on the wand that automatically appeared in Harry’s hand. 

_‘Why is he waiting?’_

_‘He can’t get into the inner chamber; only a Parselmouth can access it, so there is no way for him to check on the cup!’_

_“I think it is more likely that he is simply waiting as he was instructed to do once he managed to gain entry into the Chamber, to make sure no one is here.’_

As if he were gifted with the ‘inner-eye’, Harry’s words seemed to come true. The rat finally turned around and fled the stone room. They waited silently for another thirty minutes before Harry unraveled his barrier. After a hiss of Parseltongue, they filed into the study, sealing the door behind them as Devon transformed the area in front of the small fireplace into a comfortable sitting room. Harry dropped onto the butter-soft leather couch in Slytherin green and waited for the older man to slide in beside him.

“I think Wormtail was sent to test the wards,” Harry said wearily, a feeling of failure hanging over him.

“Which means that Voldemort is planning on coming back to the Chamber himself, as you have to be a Parselmouth in order to access this area,” Hermione answered quietly.

“Yes, I believe so,” Devon agreed, “which means we have today to ensure that he is unable to gain entry to the Chamber or Hogwarts.”

“Bloody hell,” Ron muttered as he scrubbed his hands over his face.

“Quite, Mr. Weasley.”

* * *


	33. Full Moon

* * *

Hermione dragged Ron into the study area, where they skimmed over book titles to see if there was anything on the wards and protective spells Salazar Slytherin might have used to protect the Chamber. With that they would be able to eliminate whatever additional spells Tom Riddle had added to the layers of protection guarding the area, and make it impervious to future trespasses. Devon headed to check the spell barrier around the fake Hufflepuff cup, while Harry felt at loose ends. He walked around the ancient antechamber, examining the corners and crevasses to make sure there was no place for any kind of vermin to enter. While he checked, he muttered a spell to seal the surfaces against any intrusion, to prevent even the smallest insect from entering.

Harry moved out into the main chamber, trying to imagine what Tom Riddle, young, arrogant, and drunk with the success of having split his soul again, would have done to protect it. He would have had to slip back into Hogwarts undetected, or more probably come in through the entrance in the Forbidden Forest, as Dumbledore would have known if his former student was back in the castle. Riddle had seen the Chamber as his birthright, Harry knew, and his protections should have been elaborate. And yet, Harry thought with a frown, he himself had gained entrance to the Chamber as a twelve-year-old with few problems. His mind flashed back to the Inferus-filled lake and the eerily glowing potion that he had forced the Headmaster to drink. 

“Harry?”

The sadness he felt must have filtered through to his spouse; Harry felt arms slid around him from behind, and a sense of comfort flowed through him. In his immediate attempt to concentrate on clearing the image from his mind, Harry missed the worry that creased the older man’s forehead.

 _‘Open to me, love,’_ Devon urged him, and Harry obeyed with a sigh.

Disoriented as the barriers fell and their minds joined, Harry could feel concern warring with sadness, and a touch of Snape exasperation in his husband’s mind. 

_‘Severus?’_ Here, this deep in his mind, Harry could not call him anything else.

_‘Shush, love, and close your eyes for me.’_

Harry complied without question, leaning back into the warmth. _‘Good, now concentrate on opening all your senses to see other magic. I know you have been able to ‘see’ the aura around magical spells and charms, Harry, so clear your mind and concentrate on that. When you are ready, open your eyes and see if you can see the wards.’_

Harry took a deep breath, pushed his guilt back into his mental trunk, and slowly relaxed, comforted by the presence of the older man. He sank into what he thought of as his ‘safe space’; the place that no one could hurt him, the place he went to as a child when life with the Dursleys became too much, the place where a special calmness filled his soul. Slowly, he opened his eyes, looking around the Chamber with a different focus. At his first glance around he gasped. A web of colored strands, much like the web of magic that had erupted from the ends of the brother wands on the night of Voldemort’s rebirth, caged the room. A shudder ran down his spine, and Harry felt his husband press closer to him as he turned his attention to the magic displayed in front of him.

Slytherin green threads outlined the edges of the rock walls and the floor of the Chamber, highlighting the features of the huge likeness of the Hogwarts founder. Wrapped around the green were vine-like fibers of deep red, leaching the glow from the green as if it were a parasite. In places, the bright green was withered black, strangled by the evil wrapped around it. Severus’ awe mingled with his own as they stood and absorbed the feel of Salazar Slytherin’s ancient, earthy magic. The taint of Tom Riddle was easy to separate from the Founder’s handiwork, and an idea formed in their minds. Severus slid his hands down and pushed back the sleeves of Harry’s shirt, baring his forearms. Then their fingers were entwined, their wrists pressed together at the pulse points, and their magic swirled gold around their hands. After a glance at one of the snakes that decorated the Chamber walls, Harry pushed the golden threads toward the red magic that slowly choked the life from Slytherin’s green web. The gold strand pulsed as Harry began an incantation in Parseltongue, and the sibilant language caressed his ears as he became aware of Severus chanting with him. 

_"Remove the evil from this chamber!"_

Gold overtook the red entwined on the closest green thread that outlined the floor at their feet, and moved sluggishly along the strands as it fought the evil. It was agonizingly slow; they watched it move a short distance before the teenager drew back mentally and frowned. Albus Dumbledore’s face suddenly materialized in Harry’s mind, back in his office after the terrible incident in the Department of Mysteries, telling Harry that love was his greatest strength. With renewed determination, Harry refocused his concentration and tapped into the well of emotion deep within him, concentrating on the love he felt for Severus and his friends. Warmth flowed through them, heating their joined hands before it flowed into the now glittering gold thread.

_"Destroy the evil that is strangling the life from Slytherin’s dream. Chase the Dark out of this Chamber and replace it with Light. Protect this Chamber from the evil that will soon try to claim it."_

The gold strand flared brightly and split along a junction of the wards, flowing along the web of magic. The couple continued to push their magic, watching as the red threads were rapidly destroyed and areas of withered black slowly pulsed with green light. Neither had any concept of passing time as they drew their strength from each other and tirelessly fed magical energy into the web of wards. Salazar Slytherin’s protective fields glowed, transformed back to their original forms, designed when the Hogwarts Founder believed the Chamber he was leaving behind would be well guarded, and enough to contain the huge basilisk he had set loose inside it. When the last bit of the magical web glowed brightly green, the pair was filled with a sense of accomplishment, and they surrendered to exhaustion.

hpsshpsshpss

Harry was warm and comfortable when he opened his eyes, and alone in his mind once again. An instant sense of bereavement hit him, and he mourned the loss of the closeness he had shared with Severus. A movement behind him drew his attention, and an arm tightened around his waist as the warmth at his back shifted. A muffled groan sounded near his ear, and Harry grinned as he stretched out his legs, entwined as they were with his mate’s. The smile abruptly disappeared when he felt heated skin rub the length of his body.

“Harry?” a decidedly female voice asked softly.

“Hermione?” Harry squeaked, pulling the soft bedding up to his chin, covering the golden head behind him. “I’m naked!”

A hand tousled his hair affectionately. “I spelled them off, you prat! You were both chilled to the touch when Ron and I found you in the main chamber, and you needed to be warmed quickly. I am glad you are finally awake- I was about to summon Madam Pomfrey!”

Harry blinked up at her blurrily. Devon stirred against him and stretched as Hermione slid his glasses onto his face. They were back in Slytherin’s inner chamber; the fire blazed next to the large camp bed the pair had been placed in, and Harry felt pleasantly lethargic as he remembered expelling Tom Riddle’s tainted magic from the Chamber’s wards. The arm wrapped around his waist tightened as he tried to stretch out the kinks in his back.

 _‘Cease your insistent movement, brat!’_ Devon told him rather breathlessly.

 

“Harry, what happened out there?” Ron said, while he settled a tea tray on the table Hermione had conjured.

Harry sat up as he summoned their clothing, and with a pointed look at Hermione, he conjured curtains around the bed. Devon pulled him back down and kissed him softly. They lay for several minutes in each other’s arms, absorbing closeness and comfort before stirring. Once both were dressed Harry banished curtains, and they moved to sit on the couch that had appeared in front of the fire. Hermione poured their tea, her eyes following them both with a worried expression. Harry smiled back, even as he leaned against Devon, who looked just as weary as Harry felt.

“You were alone in the Chamber for almost two hours,” Hermione said, in a tone that accused them of not letting her see something important, “and the doors would not open for us. When they did, we found the two of you collapsed on the floor!”

“How long did we sleep?” Devon asked quietly, sitting up straighter.

“Just about an hour,” Ron told him as he reached for a biscuit. “You both were dead to the world, mate.”

“We found a way to eliminate the protective fields the Dark Lord had woven into the original spell that Slytherin put in place, Ronald, but it was a drain on both our magical reserves,” Devon explained as Harry reached for one of the small sandwiches on the tray. “We still need to strengthen the wards on the entrance that leads out to the Forbidden Forest.”

Harry had been watching his husband’s face, and could see the exhaustion etched into the small lines around his eyes. He handed one of the sandwiches to Devon before taking one for himself, and listened intently as Hermione described what they had found in Slytherin’s study while waiting for Harry and Devon: parchments full of plans for the building of Hogwarts, tucked back in one corner, all bearing scribbled notes of the other Founders as the four had strived to realize their dream of a magical school. There were indications that this particular spot had been chosen for the elemental magic that permeated the bedrock of the area, in addition to the remoteness of its location. 

“Was there anything that might help us with the warding of the Chamber?” Harry asked around a mouthful of sandwich.

Hermione shook her head as she pushed the remaining sandwiches closer to him, and away from Ron’s questing hand. “What is written in English shows charms and protective spells that would keep students from being hurt within the castle, which included hurting themselves, as well as ones that keep out wild animals. Really, they are rather simplistic protections for a school, but I assume it was what was needed a millennium ago.”

Harry watched as Devon nodded. “Many of the current wards were put into place by Headmasters and Headmistresses over the years as the need arose. Albus placed a number of protective fields round various areas to alert him to the use of Dark magic within Hogwarts and the adjacent grounds, but as we have seen, nothing can prevent its use.”

“Or prevent the entry of Dark wizards, it would seem,” Ron murmured, clearly thinking of the Death Eaters who got into the castle with Draco Malfoy’s help.

“Actually, there are wards in place that prevent them from coming onto the grounds, just as there are wards to prevent Apparition,” Devon countered, his voice rising slightly. “That is why Draco Malfoy had such difficult devising a way to get the Death Eaters into the castle that night.” 

Harry moved closer to Devon, feeling the emotions welling up in his partner as the activities of that night replayed in his mind. With a sharp look at his friends, Harry diverted the conversation back to the need to check the spells on the outside entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. After finishing their tea, the group made their way down the dark corridor with wands lit, searching for any sign of recent entry. Finding none, Harry stepped closer to Devon, to repeat the process they had used in the main chamber, only to be stopped by Hermione.

“If you both do the spell, won’t Voldemort be able to recognize your magical signatures?” she asked, looking pointedly at the Potions master.

Unable to argue with Hermione’s logic, Harry lowered his wand and looked at Devon, who stood beside him. If the Dark Lord was able to enter the Chamber, he would know that they had been there, so it was either make an all-out effort to keep him out and not tip him off, or just let him get in. 

_‘Dumbledore’s wand!’_ Harry thought with sudden inspiration.

 _‘Indeed.’_ Devon’s forehead creased in thought. _‘It might disguise my signature enough.’_

Ron looked back and forth between the two men, rolling his eyes. “Bloody hell, Harry, I hate it when you do that! Speak out loud so we can all hear!” 

Harry snorted at the indignant look his friend gave him, explaining briefly what they were going to attempt to do as he stepped behind the older man. He slid his arms around Devon and wrapped them securely around the slender waist. There could be no mixture of magic this time, but Harry was determined to lend his strength however he could. Barriers lowered, it was only a moment before Severus enveloped him mentally, a soft caress between consciousnesses before they went to work. With Albus Dumbledore’s wand, the older man quickly and efficiently warded the doors against intrusion by anyone who harbored ill intent, as that was the type of protection the Headmaster would have used. Harry hoped that with his support, the use of their mentor’s wand would sufficiently mask his husband’s magical signature.

hpsshpsshpss

The Potions master of Hogwarts stood in his newly cleaned and restocked storeroom, and sighed. He and Harry had spent all morning getting the room exactly how he had always had it, and then the impertinent brat he was bound to reminded him that he was not Severus Snape at the moment, and perhaps Devon Prince should have a bit of a different way of ordering his stores. It had taken another two hours to put the storeroom into a different, but acceptable arrangement. Just as he swooped in to give the young man his due reward, they were interrupted by the other two-thirds of the Golden Trio, whom Harry ignored as he continued to return the kiss enthusiastically. 

“Come on, Romeos, we have work to do,” Hermione told them, a mild rebuke in her voice.

Devon released his hold on his mate slowly, dreading the fact that whether or not he liked the young woman’s delivery, the message was still true. The teenagers were going to examine all the tunnels and other ‘secret’ entrances to the castle with the assistance of the Marauder’s Map, while he had been summoned to an impromptu meeting in the Headmistress’ office with the other Heads of House. As he watched the trio disappear down the corridor, the Potions master felt a frisson of trepidation, something he was coming to expect whenever Harry was out of his sight. 

With a shake of his head, he made his way back to his rooms for a quick shower and hopefully a sandwich before he had to go upstairs. A jumper draped casually over the back of the chair next to his bed reminded him that he was no longer alone, and unexpected warmth spread through his chest. Moving quickly through his preparations, Devon chose a set of dark green robes to wear open over a crisp white shirt and black trousers, wanting to go into this meeting as un-Severus-like as possible. He snorted as he picked up a thick sandwich, his mind journeying back over the past few months. He knew that he was no longer the same man who had fled from the Astronomy Tower last June with his heart in shreds. Perhaps this was more than merely another role for him to play; perhaps Albus was right, and in this case, the ends would justify the means. It was the flicker of nervousness in his gut that bothered him.

Devon Prince strolled through the corridors, not at the robe-flapping pace of his alter-ego, but with a confident, expectant air. He was the Half-Blood Prince, after all, he thought with a smirk, only to hear a snigger in the back of his mind.

 _‘Pay attention to your warding, you impetuous brat, and cease your lurking!’_ Harry’s answering laughter was warm with affection, and Devon continued toward his meeting, his steps a little lighter. 

Minerva McGonagall had aged more in the weeks since her unwanted elevation to Headmistress than he could remember in the twenty-six years he had known her, but that had not weakened her in any way. As he stepped into the tower office, Devon saw Filius Flitwick sat at her right hand, in the position of Deputy Headmaster. Pomona Sprout, clad unexpectedly in yellow, sat next to him at the round table, speaking to the familiar figure of Kingsley Shacklebolt. He hesitated fractionally before he moved to take the vacant seat on the Headmistress’ left.

“Devon, I thought I might have to come retrieve you from the dungeons myself.” There was no censure in Minerva’s voice, and he could see the glint of humor in her eyes.

“My apologies, Headmistress, it is easy to become confused on the journey here if one is unfamiliar with the castle.” Devon knew he was on time, but did not resent the implied jibe as a reminder that he was the ‘new’ teacher, and should have been early.

“I believe you have met everyone,” McGonagall said as she passed him a cup of tea. “Kingsley is head of the Auror squad assigned to Hogwarts, and he will be filling in as Defense Against the Dark Art instructor as well.”

“Along with acting as chief child-minder,” the dark-skinned wizard muttered into his teacup.

“That will be sufficient, Professor Shacklebolt, and I daresay you have better not let Harry Potter hear that the Minister has made you personally responsible for his safety, nor that you think of him as a child.” The witch pinned him with a dark look. “Our Mr. Potter has worked very hard this summer, gaining proper control over his powers, Shacklebolt, and Albus always said Harry would surpass him in magical ability!”

Kingsley mumbled an apology before shooting a dark look of his own at Devon. “You apparently have seen a lot of the boy this summer, Prince. Has he truly learned control?”

Devon met the chocolate brown eyes and nodded slightly, acknowledging the inference that he had grown close to Harry. “He has worked diligently on controlling his outbursts of wild magic with some success; he continues to learn how to focus, as his magic has increased with his coming of age.”

“Very good. Now if we could get down to Hogwarts business,” McGonagall said briskly, launching into the expectations of the Board of Governors, and how many students would actually be returning for the term.

The meeting droned on, as the start of term Heads meetings generally did, even though Minerva seemed to make more of an effort to keep them on track than Albus ever had. There were new security measures being put in place at the insistence of the Board of Governors and the Minister of Magic, both of whom were guaranteeing the safety of the students. Rufus Scrimgeour had used Harry’s return to Hogwarts as a rallying point for the Ministry to urge parents to allow their children to do the same, and Devon knew his young husband would be livid when he found out. It infuriated the Potions master; he knew Harry would take this as to mean that he was personally responsible for each of the students who returned, and he would fight to the death to protect them. Devon smothered a sigh and resisted the urge to hex the ever-cheerful Flitwick, who seemed delighted by everything.

The discussion finally turned to the new term itself and the potential problems facing them all, from the curriculum to assigned text books to chaperone duties. Security was a concern, as was the problem of returning students who might have affiliations with Voldemort. Devon let the conversation flow around him, as he was not supposed to know any of the students being discussed. His thoughts turned to the one young man no one mentioned, the one who would never have opportunity to come back. Devon knew that in the end he had failed Draco Malfoy. Although some blame surely lay in the young man’s inability to admit that the pure-blood mania beliefs he had been raised to believe were wrong, Severus Snape had vowed to help the teenager, and he had failed to persuade him that there might be another option. In fact, the likelihood was slim that many of his sixth- or seventh-year students would return, and for that he had himself to blame as well as Albus and his grand plan to be elevated to the Dark Lord’s most trusted servant. A wave of regret went through him for the damage they had done for the greater good.

“No, Devon may not have gone to Hogwarts, but he was Sorted in my office after I hired him. The Hat was quite certain Slytherin was where he belonged,” McGonagall was saying, “and he agreed to help bring a fresh perspective to the House by overseeing its students.”

The others nodded in agreement, and Devon was hard-pressed to keep a Snapeish sneer from erupting. “If we have covered everything, Headmistress, I do have projects that require my attention in the dungeons.”

“Whatever the reason,” the Auror said as he stood and stretched his back, “I agree that this meeting has good on much longer than I would have believed. And I am used to dealing with the likes of Fudge and Scrimgeour!” Bright white teeth flashed in the dark face, and Devon gave him a small smile in return.

“Heavens!” the diminutive Charms teacher exclaimed. “The sun is setting already.”

hpsshpsshpss

“Come on, Harry, hurry up! Hermione is going to beat us back to the castle!”

With a grin, Harry quickened his pace to keep up with the redhead, feeling a brief moment of normalcy as he raced his best friend up the grassy slope from the castle gates. They had returned from Hogsmeade under Harry’s invisibility cloak after warding the end of the tunnel that emerged into the basement of Honeydukes. Hermione had ventured back up the underground passage to ward the door behind the statue of the one-eyed witch. A wave of relief told Harry that the staff meeting was finally coming to a conclusion. With a lighthearted laugh, he drew abreast of Ron and smirked as he sped past him. 

“Hey!” Ron sputtered indignantly. He put on a burst of speed and caught up, passing Harry easily.

The breeze whipped through Harry’s hair as he ran, enjoying the feeling of a carefree moment. A soft caress through the bond warmed him, and Harry slowed his pace, the invisibility cloak flapping behind him. The sun was sinking slowly behind the Quidditch pitch to the west, coloring the few scattered clouds deep orange. The Whomping Willow swayed, a dark silhouette against the brightly tinted sky.

“Bloody hell!” The sight of the large tree made Harry stumble to a stop. Ron looked back over his shoulder at exclamation, before he jogged back.

“What is it, mate?”

Bent over at the waist as he tried to catch his breath, Harry gasped, “Shrieking Shack tunnel…Whomping Willow…”

A perplexed look crossed the redhead’s face as he took several deep breaths as well.

“…didn’t ward it yet,” Harry said as he straightened up.

“Bloody hell is right,” Run grumbled as he scrubbed a hand over his face. “Come on then, we’d better get to it.”

They jogged across the grassy lawn, circling the huge tree at a respectable distance until they reached the far side, closest to the tunnel entrance. The stout stick that Snape had used in their third year still lay under the outermost branches of the tree, and Harry easily summoned it wandlessly, pushing those memories to the back of his mind. Ron stood several paces back, well outside the range of the swinging limbs as Harry watched the swirling patterns. He dove between two of the thick branches, rolled to avoid another, and poked the knot at the base of the trunk. The tree froze.

“Well done, mate!” Ron joined him at the tunnel entrance.

Harry shrugged. “Seeker’s reflexes,” he told Ron as he brushed off the compliment.

The warding spell itself took almost fifteen minutes to incant, as they went through the complicated wand motions Devon had taught them the afternoon before. The ward would block anyone intent on harming any person protected within the castle, similar to the protective spells on the more conventional entrances to Hogwarts. This entrance would bring the number to seven tunnels that Harry, Ron and Hermione had warded that afternoon, and should protect the students from anyone who knew of their existence. Devon and Hermione had modified the incantation in an effort to make it effective against Animagi, particularly Peter Pettigrew, but it did not protect against animals.

Harry sighed as the last bit of magic left the tip of his wand and the glimmer of the ward flared, then disappeared. He exchanged a tired look of accomplishment with Ron before stepping away from the tunnel and glancing around. Long shadows had crept in, casting the area into darkness. The teenagers emerged from underneath the tree into the last fading rays of daylight, and Harry glanced over his shoulder.

“It’s later that I thought, Ron, we need to get—”

The cooling air was ripped by a howl that chilled both teenagers, and they ran. The glimmer of the full moon rising above the horizon caught Harry’s eye as they sprinted toward the welcoming lights of the castle, which seemed very far away. Another howl rent the quiet night, much closer than the first. Harry telegraphed his fear through the bond, his wand grasped firmly in his hand, as he heard Ron cry out suddenly.

Harry whipped around in time to see a silver streak slam Ron to the ground and roll off. His heart seized as he saw the elongated snout of a werewolf. The huge beast righted itself, its silvery fur gleaming in the first rays of the full moon. It pounced on Ron again as the teen struggled to get back on his feet, and he screamed as he fought back. Without hesitation, Harry ran toward the struggling teen, spell-light shooting from the tip of his wand. The great silver werewolf shook off each of the stunning spells Harry used; the magic only slowed it slightly as it fought to subdue its thrashing prey.

 _The only thing that can hurt a werewolf is silver._ The unexpected thought popped into Harry’s panicked mind, bringing a sense of calm and control. Harry slid to a stop within arms’ reach of the vicious beast as he pinned Ron and pushed his head back to expose his throat. Harry dredged up the memory of how he felt the night he and Severus had bonded, and the sheer joy that union brought him.

_“Expecto Patronum!”_

The magic flowed from deep in his chest, and Harry could feel it move down his arm and through his fingers. He pushed it out the tip of his wand, watching the jagged teeth descend as if in slow motion toward the freckled flesh. The silver stag that erupted from the end of his wand was huge. It immediately caught the werewolf under the torso with the edge of a mighty antler and tossed the creature into the air. Harry jumped forward and grabbed a semiconscious Ron as the stag pinned the fallen beast to the ground. 

An inhuman scream startled Harry and raised the hair on the back of his neck. He managed to get the taller boy to his feet before he looked over. The Patronus stood on the werewolf’s chest, and smoke poured from where the silver hooves touched the creature. The stench of burning hair reached Harry’s nostrils, and the body transformed into a man. Three other werewolves emerged from the Forbidden Forest at a run, headed straight for them, and Harry pushed Ron behind him.

“Prongs! Here come three more of them!”

Harry shouted at the Patronus as if it were a sentient creature, and his voice drew the attention of the snarling, snapping monsters as they drew ever closer. The stag sprang forward and plowed into the group, and Harry did not stay to watch what happened. He looped an arm around Ron’s waist, pulled the unresisting teenager to his side and half-dragged, half-supported him as he moved as fast as he could toward the castle. His wand was ready, his eyes focused on the great oak doors as his ears were assaulted by bloodcurdling screams from behind him. The doors were thrown open, golden light flooding the stone steps of the entry, and Harry all but threw Ron into the first set of hands that reached out to him. Kingsley Shacklebolt seemed taken aback by his sudden burden.

“Werewolf attack!” he ground out. “He needs Pomfrey!”

Harry swung around and started back down the slope, his eyes already scanning the grassy lawn, when hands grabbed his shoulders and pulled him back. The tingle of magic kept him from reacting violently; instead, Harry slumped back into the taller figure of Devon Prince. Comforted by his mate’s presence, he drew a deep, calming breath and opened the barrier. Just then, a thunderous roar emerged from the direction of the Forbidden Forest, and the glowing white eyes of a flock of thestrals rose above it.

“Grawp?” Harry muttered, as he tried to remember where Hagrid had said his half-brother lived, and whether it was close enough for him to guard the Forest.

 _‘The Dark Lord! He is in the Forest!’_ Devon hissed in his mind. Harry felt the slight burn in the man’s Dark Mark through the bond just as the subdued pain hit his scar. 

As one they turned and sprinted through the Entrance Hall, knocking Flitwick to the stone floor in their haste. The Bloody Baron silently observed their rapid descent into Slytherin territory. At the door deep in the dungeons, Harry paused, attempting to suck sufficient oxygen into his lungs to go on. Devon reached around him as soon as their hearts had quieted sufficiently, but Harry pushed him back, fear twisting his stomach into knots.

“No, you can’t expose yourself!”

The golden eyes bore into his. “You are not going in there alone!”

With one hand, Harry tore the invisibility cloak from his around his neck, where it had twisted into the middle of his back. “Get under this, and remember that if he can’t get in and sends the snake, the bastard can see through Nagini’s eyes!”

Devon took the shimmering material from Harry’s hand and leaned in to kiss him hard, then he threw the cloak over his head. With a deep breath, Harry unwarded the door and stepped through, re-spelling it when he felt the older man behind him. Silently, they moved along the dark passageway and stopped just outside the main chamber. Harry knew if he took one more step, the torches would recognize him and flare to life, so instead, he stood and waited. A comforting hand slid to his waist, and both men strained their ears for the first sound of footsteps. So intent were they on that specific sound, Harry almost missed the soft slithering noise that came up swiftly from behind them. 

With a silent curse, Harry spun around, pushing his spouse away from the approaching reptile. Harry knew with the snake’s heightened senses, she would know there were two of them there, but the subtle difference in scent would prevent her master from identifying that person as Severus Snape or Devon Prince. Harry felt more than saw the movement of the serpent as it raised its giant head to taste the air in front of it, and he moved backwards, pushing Devon back into the Chamber. The torches flared to light, temporarily blinding the serpent’s sensitive eyes, which caused it to bare its fangs and strike blindly.

White-hot pain flared through Harry’s thigh as the tip of one fang penetrated his trousers and sank into his skin before he could twist out of the way. Fire flowed down his leg and Harry stumbled backwards a step, his feet trying to find traction on the stone floor of the Chamber. As he fell, Harry flung his wand hand out toward the snake.

_“Burn, evil serpent, and destroy the soul you harbor! Burn!”_

The Parseltongue flowed from his lips, and brilliant green fire destroyed the twisting snake in eerie silence. Darkness encroached on him as he continued to fall backwards, and Harry was relieved to feel familiar arms grab him as Devon caught him before he hit the floor. Just as blackness overtook him, a flash of flame told him that Fawkes had arrived to save him.

* * *


	34. Meeting Hell

* * *

Warmth surrounded him, and a familiar hand stroked through Harry’s hair. A smile bloomed on his lips as he forced one eye to crack open, but even the subdued lighting harsh enough to have him blinking back tears. A goblet was pressed to his lips; he took a gulp of the cool water and promptly choked.

“Easy, Harry, just sip it,” the velvet voice told him, and he followed the instructions slowly, allowing his mate to satisfy his thirst.

Harry's head was heavy and his whole body felt weighted, from his reluctant eyelids to limbs that felt like lead, and he could not find the energy to stir, despite the pressing need centered low in his abdomen. A soft chuckle from beside him made him frown;then he felt the prickly wash of magic around his bladder, and the pressure disappeared. Harry smiled and snuggled back into his warm, angular pillow, idly wandering where he was and what had…

He tried to wrench his body into a sitting position, only to find that strong arms and uncooperative muscles refused to let him move. A sob tore from his throat as the memories of the full moon returned in full force. 

“Ron! What happened to Ron?” 

Only the full opening of their bond calmed him, as Devon showed him images of a bandaged Ron Weasley sleeping peacefully in the Head Girl’s bedroom, Hermione curled up beside him. “I checked on them no more that an hour ago, Harry, after I persuaded the Headmistress to allow me to bring you here as well. He was scratched but not bitten, and he was not infected.”

Harry slumped back in relief, his own thoughts replaying the scene of the attack once more, showing the huge werewolf screaming in agony as silver hoofs killed it. 

“The world is a better place without Fenrir Greyback, love. Your father would be unbearably arrogant about the role his Animagus form played.” The words were colored by the snide tone Severus Snape had always affected when speaking of James Potter, but Devon tugged Harry closer when he tried to withdraw. “He would have also been immensely proud of the way his son defended his friend’s life, and I am proud of you as well.” 

A warm feeling burst in Harry's chest at the words he had heard so few times in his life from someone he loved. “Thank you,” he muttered quietly, his throat still scratchy. “What time is it?”

“About three in the morning, I believe.” Devon waved up the single torch a bit, enough for Harry to identify the room as ‘his’, the Head Boy bedroom. “Poppy wanted us here so that she need only make one trip to check on both of you.”

A tickle in his throat made him cough, and pain ripped through his chest, reverberating down through his torso. It was a deep, aching pain, as if he had strained every muscle in his body. The pain left tears welling in his eyes, and he swallowed obediently when a vial of medication was pressed to his lips. Although he was not sure what he’d done this time, Harry was nevertheless tired of hurting himself this summer. A chuckle under his ear told him that he was broadcasting his thoughts, and made a sound of disgust.

“You overextended your magic, you idiotic Gryffindor! The warding of the Chamber of Secrets alone might have done it! The amount of magical power you poured into that Patronus would have killed a normal wizard, and then you had to blast the Dark Lord’s familiar with a burst of elemental magic!” Devon pressed a kiss into his hair. “And you wonder why you are in pain?”

“Oh.” Harry blinked as the enormity of what had transpired struck him.

Voldemort’s attack on Hogwarts had been a diversion to mask his true intent: to make an attempt to get into the Chamber of Secrets. The few teachers in residence would have been easy prey for the werewolves, who were not repulsed by the castle’s wards. At least, Harry thought as Devon settled him back into the bed, the bastard had not managed to get into the Chamber, and therefore did not know the status of the Horcrux he had left there. 

Another vial appeared in front of his face, and Harry opened his mouth without hesitation, his mind busy counting off Horcruxes. The distinct, rancid flavor of a sleeping draft made him gag, and he shot his husband a filthy look.

“We still haven’t figured out whether Nagini was actually a Horcrux, and we don't know whether Voldemort will decide to create another one,” Harry said as the older man waved down the light and lay down beside him. 

Arms moved to cradle him once more.

“Yes, I am well aware of that, Harry, but it will wait until you have rested. Poppy has threatened to put you in a magical healing coma if you so much as try to get out of bed at any point in the next three days.”

“That doesn’t sound all that bad.” Harry tried for a suggestive tone, and wiggled his hips even as his eyes drooped.

An arm banded around his waist, stilling the movement firmly. “Sleep first, Mister Potter. We will negotiate the rest when you can move again without groaning.”

“Spoilsport,” Harry muttered crossly, even as he slipped back into sleep.

hpsshpsshpss

Severus Apparated to the edge of the wards as dawn lit the sky over the Forest. He stumbled as his left leg buckled under him, staying upright by sheer determination. To say that the Dark Lord had been incensed would have been akin to saying Hagrid was a tall man; no one had escaped his wrath. Apparently, using Dumbledore’s wand had masked the magical signature of the protective fields enough that Voldemort believed Albus had strengthened them prior to his death in June. The Dark Lord had no doubt that his nemesis was behind the failure of his serpent to return from the Chamber. No one, at least none of the survivors, who had witnessed Harry's Patronus was going to tell the Dark Lord about it, so the immense power of the apparition was still a secret. Determining why the werewolf attack had failed was just another of the tasks he had laid at Severus’ feet, along with finding out where Harry was and what he had done to Nagini.

The soft lights flicking in the windows of the castle beckoned. He limped through the wards and retrieved the invisibility cloak he had hidden behind a boulder at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. It would not do to have Kingsley Shacklebolt discover Severus Snape sneaking in to the castle. He made his way slowly towards the stone entrance steps, assured via their bond that Harry was still sleeping peacefully, and had not had to witness the brutal torture session he had just endured. It was also the last time he would dare transform back into his true appearance while within the confines of Hogwarts. The Dark Lord had been displeased that Severus had taken the chance of being caught, and he had been cursed for that quite vigorously, but it had been worth it to leave his ex-comrades questioning Devon Prince's true appearance. It had been disconcerting to find that someone had passed along any description, though. Bellatrix was happy to enlighten him, confirming the presence of another spy within the ranks of the Order of the Phoenix. 

The great oak door opened easily, and Severus trudged up the suddenly cooperative staircases to the seventh floor quarters of the Head Boy and Girl without coming across anyone. Easing into the shared sitting room with a whisper of the password, Severus was relieved to find the room empty, the fireplace cold, and he lifted the cloak off over his head. With a sigh, the Potions master dropped it on the couch and sank down beside it, silently summoning his potions case from the bedroom, where his husband slept soundly. He needed to take his potions and clean up before he dared to join Harry, or the young man would have a fit that Severus had not woken him when he was summoned. 

A soft gasp alerted him to another presence, and Severus was on his feet instantly, wand in hand and head spinning. 

“Severus?” Poppy Pomfrey whispered. She moved to grab his elbow before erecting locking and Imperturbable charms around the door. 

He sank back down on the couch, and accepted the vial pressed into his hand. A whispered healing spell accompanied the second vial he was tersely instructed to swallow, and he felt the wash of magic warm him as it took the last of his pain away. His potions case sat on the low table in front of him, and Severus retrieved a vial of golden liquid from a small pocket that disappeared, before a hand stopped his.

“I’d like to do a scan, dear, just to make sure everything is healed before you take anything else.” Poppy’s voice was concerned, and when Severus looked up to meet her eyes, the glare he received was daunting.

“I need to transform back to Devon Prince, Poppy,” he told her, even as she waved the short, thick diagnostic wand over him. “It is not safe to prolong—”

“Do shut up for a moment, Severus,” she said as she pushed him back firmly to lie on the couch. “You have not had proper care since June, and while I understand why, it will only take a moment to check you. No one is going to try and get into these rooms without Harry’s permission, as you well know.”

His protests died on his lips, and the ex-Death Eater lay still as the wand was passed over him several times, the look on the witch’s face fierce. She was quite right; Harry had placed protections around these rooms, as well as their dungeon chambers, that only allowed a select few unrestricted access. The sheer strength of the wards certainly rivaled Albus Dumbledore’s, and there was no one he knew who would be able to break them. The familiar clucking sound the woman made as she checked him took him back to past times, when Albus would stand silently at the foot of his bed in the hospital wing as he waited for the mediwitch to pronounce him fit. For a moment a feeling of loss welled in him.

A pat on his shoulder brought him out of his memories, and Severus sat up slowly, thumbing the cork out of the top of the modified Polyjuice Potion. He was well used to the transformation process now, and suppressed a smile when Poppy gasped. With a shake of her head at his casualness, the nurse tucked her wand into her pocket, her eyes never leaving his softened features.

“That is truly amazing, you realize, Sev—Devon? It does not really change your features so much as it soften them.” The smile she gave him made it all the way to her eyes. “It appears that Harry and his friends have been taking good care of you, dear, except that you are still a bit underweight.”

“Thank you, Poppy,” Devon Prince told her as he slowly stood up. “Is everything all right?”

“Harry had a nightmare that triggered the monitoring spell, but I gave him a touch more of the sleeping draught and he was fine.”

“Thank you,” Devon said to her sincerely. His instinct told him that it had not been a mere nightmare that had woken his mate. 

“Go to bed, dear, and I do not want to see either of you tomorrow… er, later today,” Poppy Pomfrey said with a smile. “He needs as much rest as he can get to regain his strength, Devon.”

The Potions master nodded, and moved wearily toward the bedroom. He stripped off the soiled black robes and banished them to the dungeons before casting a wandless cleaning charm on himself. Stopping only to spell the curtains closed to shut out the daylight that had begun to creep into the room, he slid into bed, gathered his mate into his arms, and was asleep before his head settled on the pillow.

hpsshpsshpss

Devon Prince bit his lip to keep from letting loose a scathing remark as a short, stocky witch blathered on about the need to spend more time fighting against Inferi that no one had seen but her. He could almost wish that he were back in the Dark Lord’s gathering, as he would be able to hex those whose questions were especially idiotic. He directed a glare meant to suggest this at Headmistress McGonagall, but it only earned him a smirk, and the meeting of the Order of the Phoenix droned into its second hour. 

The bright blond streaks in the light brown hair of Eithne Vance caught his eyes, and Devon frowned as he felt the witch’s gaze on him yet again. He still felt the woman bore watching due to her unnatural interest in both him and Harry, but he had no proof that she was a spy, as usually only the inner circle was allowed to removed their masks. Whoever the spy was, they would know that Devon Prince was Severus Snape, he thought viciously. The hair on the back of his neck rose at the thought of such exposure.

Finally, the room was cleared of most of the Order members and restored to its original condition, leaving only the people that Albus used to call "Harry's group" behind around the scrubbed wooden kitchen table. A still pale Molly Weasley bustled about as she prepared a tea tray, while the rest of the group settled back around the table. Kingsley Shacklebolt had allowed the Order to draw the conclusion that Ron had been infected by the attack on him two nights before, and he had neglected to mention Harry’s involvement. In this smaller gathering he told them all he knew. Minerva knew her strengths as a leader, and she allowed the Auror to conduct the meeting, as each of them contributed what they knew. When Devon described the effect of the Patronus Harry had produced, the others listened in fascination. Remus Lupin, still showing the effects of his own fight with the full moon, looked at him critically from the seat he occupied to Devon’s right.

“Harry’s Patronus is still a stag?” he asked softly, and Devon smothered the inappropriate comment that leapt to his lips.

“Yes, a familiar one, it would seem. He called it Prongs, and was able to direct it toward the second group of attacking werewolves.”

Lupin lost what little color his face had at the reference to his best friend’s Animagus form. Kingsley redirected the conversation, announcing that Remus would be joining the Auror contingent in residence in the castle the following evening, supposedly to assist Ron. Arthur Weasley leaned forward from his place at that the end of the table to pat Nymphadora Tonk’s hand, while the dark skinned Auror went on to explain some of the other new security measures. 

Poppy sat across the table from Devon and shot him a look. He arched an eyebrow at her, as he had had no choice about attending this meeting, anymore than he had the one the night before. Minerva took over, relaying to the group the information Devon had given her that afternoon, confirming that the Dark Lord himself had actually been in the Forbidden Forest, as well as his desire to access the Chamber of Secrets. Silence fell over the seven other people in the room, and Devon was thankful for the silencing and Imperturbable charms he had cast on the door. 

“I did not realize we had acquired another spy, Minerva.” Arthur broke the silence. 

“Well, anyone would be an improvement over—”

“That will be enough, Shacklebolt!” the Headmistress admonished with a snap. “I will not have you maligning the contributions to this war that Severus Snape made during his time as a spy for the Order!”

Tonks and the Weasleys looked at the witch in astonishment, while Kingsley shook his head, gold earring gleaming in the torchlight. Remus Lupin watched Devon carefully.

“Minerva, I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did!” The woman fairly bristled. “And I have told all of you that there was a reason Albus trusted Snape. I have information, confirmed by Pensieve memories, that exonerates Severus Snape!” She held up a hand as Shacklebolt opened his mouth to argue. “I cannot tell you any more than what I have already said, and no one outside this room has been given this information. It puts many people, including Harry, in danger.” The sharp eyes examined each of the faces around the table. “I will remind you that you are bound to secrecy by your oath of allegiance to the Order, and I promise you that I will tell you what I can, when I can.”

“Is Harry aware of this?” Molly asked quietly, her eyes intense.

“Yes.” The Headmistress nodded, and Devon had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes as she steadfastly avoided looking at him. “Harry was the one who was able to animate Albus’ portrait the morning Fawkes retrieved him from his relatives.”

“I assume that means Harry was Albus’ heir,” Arthur said, his face emotional. 

Minerva looked at the Weasley patriarch, a trace of sorrow evident in the small smile she gave him. “Yes, one of them, Arthur, and the other…”

“Is Severus Snape,” Remus finished for her, his eyes darting between the older witch and the new Potions master. “Of course! It all makes perfect sense now, with what I have been able to find out!” A broad smile spread across his face. “I would have to assume you have been in contact with Severus, then?”

McGonagall nodded carefully, and Devon stared into his tea cup, wondering where the werewolf was going with his questions.

“And I am assuming that Harry, Ron, and Hermione have also been in contact with him, and that Severus has Harry’s support.”

“Yes.”

Lupin looked around the table, his eyes lingering fractionally on Devon’s features. “Then he should have our full support as well. If Harry Potter has found a means to understand and accept the man who killed Albus Dumbledore, we should not question it. There is no ‘new’ spy either, as it is Severus passing information, as he always has.” The reactions to his pronouncement were varied. “Minerva, please assure Severus that his secret is safe with us, and to let us know if there is anything we can do to support his efforts.”

The warm feeling blossoming in his stomach was simply the tea, Devon assured himself.

hpsshpsshpss

Devon stumbled out of the floo into his rooms in the dungeons of Hogwarts, exhausted despite the fact that it was early evening. He felt sticky and grimy, and headed directly to the bathroom, shedding his clothing haphazardly as he went. The water was spelled as hot as he could stand it as he methodically scrubbed off the stench of Dark magic and the grime of his duties. Poppy had caught him as he moved to Floo from Grimmauld Place, whispering in his ear that Harry had been given the okay to move back down to the dungeons, and the thought that his husband awaited him in their large bed cheered him. After casting a drying charm, Devon found his way to bed, a warm form enfolding him as he immediately fell asleep.

Hands gently turned him onto his stomach, and a soft hissing noise pulled him up from the depths of sleep. The oiled fingertips gliding along the plane of his back were callused and familiar. They worked first one shoulder and then the other, kneading away the knots and tensions of the past several days. Slender legs straddled his hips as the hands continued their marvelous motion, the fingers working the sore muscles as the tingle of magic heated them pleasantly. An idle thought skimmed through his mind that his Harry seemed to be a natural healer, but then the sweep of a wet tongue stole all coherent thought.

_'Does that feel good, my love?'_

The language of serpents caressed his ears, and sent all his blood to his penis, making Devon groan appreciatively. Harry had the barrier up firmly between their minds, and all he could do was listen to the hissing syllables that made him so aroused. The talented tongue alternated between licking and nipping at his back as it progressed downward, whispering to him in Parseltongue all the while. Both made Devon shiver as he hardened against the mattress, Harry’s weight preventing him from rubbing against it.

Moving off his hips, Harry splayed his hands across Devon's lower back and nudged his legs open. The distinct feeling of a cleansing spell deep in his bowels startled Devon, but those incredible hands were massaging his cheeks, and that tongue was tasting the top of his crease. He felt the cheeks spread, and his breath caught painfully in his chest when he felt hot breath on his puckered entrance. A wet tongue lapped at his balls before drawing up and over the tight ring. In all his experience, he had never had a lover who had done this for him, never had one that cared enough to even try this, his secret fantasy.

_'Do you like that, love? Does it live up to the dreams I saw deep in your mind?'_

He could feel each syllable as it was uttered, the warm air puffing across his wet skin, and the combination was almost too much. An inarticulate string of words tumbled from his lips, and Harry caught enough of the desperate words to back off fractionally and allow him the get himself under control. Devon reached one hand under himself to tug sharply on his balls to stave off the impending climax. He left it there, fingers cradling the soft sac. Kisses were planted on each finger before Harry lifted his face and buried it between his cheeks. Devon howled, the sensitive nerves overloading under the heated assault of tongue and teeth. One oiled finger slipped inside as that talented tongue laved the tight muscle. He rocked his hips back encouragingly. A second finger was added and began to scissor, the tongue stabbing between them. By the time a third finger was added, Devon was trembling with desire, his awareness reduced to those fingers and that tongue.

“Ohmy… NOW, Harry, NOW!”

Harry was panting heavily, glad that he had oiled his cock as he watched his mate sleep – he knew he would come if he did more than that. Devon lurched up and back onto his knees, his face pressed into his pillow, and Harry steadied him with a hand on his hip, guiding his leaking erection. With a deep breath, he popped the broad head through the loosened ring and stopped, opening the barrier between their minds.

_'You are so hot and tight, love, do you want—'_

Devon reared back, impaling himself, and the sensations made both men lose control. Harry gripped the slender hips, thrusting as hard and deep as he could, his legs shaking with the effort as he felt his cock rake across the nub of Devon’s prostate. He roared when he slammed into the warmth again and came deep inside his husband. Devon cried out as his climax ripped through him, and his legs gave out, tumbling them both to the sheets.

The wave of a hand cast a charm that cleaned up the evidence of their activities, and Harry slumped back to his side. A hand came creeping across his chest to pat him, and he grinned as he tugged Devon toward him. That quickly, the older man was back to sleep. Settling his mate against him, the golden head lying on his chest, Harry closed his eyes. He was still tired, even after two days of enforced bed rest, especially since Devon had been summoned to meeting after meeting in the same time period. 

At least, he thought as he settled back in the darkness, they had been successful at repelling an attack that had hit them on two sides. And they had managed to destroy another Horcrux, Harry believed. The question of his changed Patronus and its effect on the werewolves was something they would have to examine as soon as Harry was up and around. They needed to take stock of possible resting places for any remaining Horcruxes, but Harry was afraid that all had now been accounted for, and Voldemort currently wore the only other outstanding one around his neck. 

Despite that knowledge, the nightmares he had suffered the past two nights had more to do with the a question that kept coming back to haunt him. The bit of that monster imbedded in his forehead, the sliver of essence that allowed him to speak Parseltongue, was the last of the Horcruxes. Harry did not know it he would survive its destruction.

* * *


	35. Quiet Interlude

* * *

Ron and Hermione joined them for breakfast the next morning, and Harry grinned when he saw the redhead step out of the Floo. It had been almost three days since the skirmish on the grounds, and Harry was relieved to see Ron looking almost normal. Despite the reassurances of both Poppy Pomfrey and his husband, Harry had feared there would be some lasting damage. Without a second thought, he threw his arms around his best friend, even as Ron grabbed him and pounded him on the back. Hermione sniffled as the two drew apart, and Devon rolled his eyes.

“I did not procure your favorite foods only to have them grow cold. Perhaps I should just have them removed…”

The teenagers dropped into their seats and began loading their plates, Ron and Hermione talking about what had happened since the bonds mates had returned to the dungeons. Harry listened as Ron recounted the Weasley invasion of the day before, but his eyes were trained on the fine lines of strain etched into Devon’s impassive face. The past few days at been filled with worry, torment, and torture, and while Harry had been confined to bed, the Potions master had soldiered on. Between his various duties, meetings, and taking care of him, Harry knew Devon had to be exhausted.

“How much more do we need to do before the start of the term, Devon?” Harry asked when Ron had finished his tale. 

The Potions master looked up from his plate with a slight frown. “There are several standard healing potions that need to be made before the term starts as they have a shorter storage life, and I have yet to update my lesson plans.”

“We still have a stack of parchment to go through in the Chamber,” Hermione interjected, “and we need to make sure all of our summer work is done as well, Ronald.”

Ron blushed at the pointed look from his girlfriend, and Harry laughed. They could always count on Hermione to keep them on track, whether hunting spells to kill Dark wizards or completing their Transfiguration essays. Devon caught his eye, and a genuine smile graced his lips at the sound of his mate’s laughter. Harry supposed that there had not been much to laugh about in the past few weeks, and the approval that flowed through their bond reconfirmed the thought.

“Perhaps we need to spend a bit of time just relaxing as well.” Harry picked at his eggs. “I know that sounds a bit frivolous, but we all need to reenergize a bit before the term starts. This summer has been stressful, and if we don’t take some time to rest up, I think we will start missing things.”

“Indeed,” Devon agreed, looking at the lines of tension that had no place in the faces of three seventeen-year-olds. “Ideally, several hours a day should be set aside for recreational activities.”

Harry’s mind immediately latched on to the recreational activity that he favored currently, and he blushed. Devon snorted at the look on his face, and Hermione cuffed the back of Ron’s head without even looking at the leer that had erupted on his face.

“Hey!” The redhead protested with a chuckle, before turning to Harry and gesturing with the fork in his hand. “Don’t we need to keep practicing some of the new spells we found in Slytherin’s papers?”

Devon nodded, as did Hermione, while Harry simply watched the exchange. He knew he needed to test the limits of his magic, something that Devon believed was best done in the Chamber of Secrets, where there was no chance that his magical signature being recognized. His magic seemed fine this morning; the faint hum under his skin that he had become accustomed to had returned when he woke up this morning.

“I think Madam Pomfrey would like us to wait another day or two prior to resuming anything that might tax Harry's magic.”

“Tax his magic?” Ron snorted, almost inhaling the bacon he was chewing. “That would take some doing, I would think!” He cocked his head to one side. “Say, mate, did you ever make out how your Patronus was able to… do that to Greyback?”

Harry ducked his head, still unsure as to what had happened to his magic that night. He pushed his cold, congealed eggs around his plate as he tried to think of an answer. His mind kept replaying the inhuman scream and the awful smell of burnt flesh, and Harry shuddered with the thought that he was no better than Tom Riddle, using his magic to kill.

“Harry?” Devon’s voice was pitched low, and he looked up to meet the golden eyes, suspecting his emotions were clear through their bond. “Your intent was not to hurt anyone, but to protect your friend from a very real threat. There is really not good or bad magic; it is the intent behind it that makes it Light or Dark.”

“Besides,” Hermione added softly, her eyes scrutinizing his face, “magic is not just pure energy, Harry. Can you remember what you were thinking when you cast the Patronus Charms?”

He frowned for a moment, glancing from one face to another before his eyes settled on Devon’s. The scene on the sloping lawn under the full moon replayed in his mind once again, and Harry concentrated on what he had been thinking. It had been about the werewolves and what Snape had taught them that time in third year when he substituted for Remus Lupin during one of the full moons. It had been in the lesson that day.

“Silver!” Harry blinked, Devon’s concerned face once more before him, and he turned to met Hermione’s warm brown eyes. “I remember thinking, just before I cast the charm, that the only thing that could hurt a werewolf was silver!” 

“And your magic then produced a silver Patronus, Harry, because that is what you needed to protect Ron,” the witch told him softly. “You did not cast Prongs to kill the werewolf, which would have made the charm ‘Dark’, but to save someone from attack. The strength of your magic did the rest.”

His magic had taken what it had sensed in his thoughts and conformed to what Harry had subconsciously told it was needed. The night of their bonding, Severus had told him the magic within them was alive in its own way. It did make sense to him that it was the thoughts of the witch or wizard casting the spell that made it Light or Dark, and therefore, the magic within them would have to recognize the thought in order to accomplish what the caster wanted.

“I didn’t realize we had that much control over our magic,” he told the others truthfully, ignoring the snort of amusement from his spouse. 

“You must not have been paying attention in class, Harry, or is Filius not teaching that part of magical theory?” 

“It is something which is implied more than instructed,” Hermione told him, as she shook her head at Ron’s puzzled expression. “Anyone who thought about it would realize that it was as much about why you cast the spell as the words and wand motions.”

“Quite so,” the Potions master said dryly as he stood up from the table. “Now, I have potions I need to prepare, and you lot need to get those summer assignments out of the way.”

Hermione smirked, and Ron grumbled good-naturedly as the Potions master swept out of the room. Harry moved to join them, his mind still focused on the previous conversation. Could that be why his Cruciatus Spell had not worked that day in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic? Did his magic know that he could never torture someone just for the pleasure of it, no matter how angry and grief-stricken he felt? If that was the case, would he be able to make his magic work when he was faced with killing Voldemort?

 _‘Remember, Harry, that will happen when you are ready, with the knowledge of how many people you are saving from his brutal wrath. You have already proven that you have the power and the ability to do what must be done, love, and it is your doubt that keeps you from becoming Dark.”_

The reassurance from his bond-mate soothed his anxious thoughts, and Harry followed Ron and Hermione into the Floo, heading for their rooms and the last bit of summer work he needed to do. It would be a relief to settle to something as mundane as homework for a few hours, he thought, listening to his two best friends bickering over their Charms essays. With a nonverbal spell, Harry summoned his seventh year Transfiguration textbook, and began to write an essay on the theory of human transformation.

hpsshpsshpss

That morning set the pattern for the rest of the week, with their attention focused on book work, potions, and studying spells during the mornings, and the afternoons devoted to exercise, relaxation, and having some fun. Wednesday and Thursday had been overcast and misty, but both Friday and Saturday dawned sunny and warm. Devon joined them for the picnic Dobby brought out on Friday and flew with them on Saturday afternoon. All of them had the feeling of being watched from the depths of the Forbidden Forest, and were very cognizant of their actions. It would not do to have whomever was spying on them report back to Voldemort that Harry Potter was besotted with the new Potions master too quickly. It was particularly wearisome for Devon, who tried to strike a believable balance between a subtle courtship of Harry and having the patience (or lack thereof) of Severus Snape.

It seemed to Devon as if the unknown eyes were boring into his back as he sat his broom, flying lazy circles above the Quidditch pitch while Harry and Ron threw a Quaffle back and forth. Hermione kept him company on a school broom, her dislike of the game not enough to keep her on the ground. In deference to the unusually warm weather, all were clad in shorts and t-shirts. Devon had cast a glamour charm on his Dark Mark, and Hermione had insisted that each of them applying an anti-sun burn potion. Harry was the first to rip off his sweat-soaked shirt and drop it to the ground below, making Devon groan. Those emerald eyes sparkling in the hot sunshine and the droplets of liquid trickling down Harry’s chest, disappearing into the waistband of his shorts, were almost more than the older man could bear.

Meals in the Great Hall were another exercise in self-control. This fallacy of a courtship had turned his mate, whose acting skills were atrocious, into a blushing ninny. They resolved that problem by eating most of their meals in Devon’s rooms. The only benefit of the two public meals he had endured was the fact that various Order members, there to help check security, had joined them. Eithne Vance , the woman he and Harry both believed might be Voldemort’s spy, had been present both times. The witch hovered on the fringe of the group, not really conversing with anyone, but seemed to be watching everything either of them did with eyes that looked, in Harry's opinion, a bit mad. Devon had learned not to scoff at his husband’s instincts.

Sunday morning dawned warm again, and Devon woke to find his husband sprawled across him, nuzzling into his chest. Shifting the young man on top of him, Devon, hissed as Harry wiggled against his morning erection. He splayed a hand across a slender hip, which only seemed to encourage the activity. Cracking his eyes open, he focused them on the mass of raven hair that blocked his vision. 

“You are nearly as bad at pretending you are asleep as you were last night at acting shy, innocent, and infatuated.” His sneer would have been more effective if his husband had actually been looking at him.

“Never really had a role model to emulate, except Romilda and Lavender last year,” Harry muttered against the tightening nub of a nipple. 

Devon’s shudder in response had more to do with the delicious slide of skin than the image of swooning female Gryffindors. He aligned the younger man against him, a hand on the taut arse pressing them together as the other threaded through the soft, tousled hair, bringing his husband’s sweet mouth up for a kiss. The younger man pressed against him, one hand sliding around to cup the back of Devon’s head, the other stroking down his side. The kiss was as slow and sweet as the gentle movement Devon made as he held the squirming hips. Harry’s hand joined his, encouraging him to pick up the pace.

His hips rocked back and forth slowly, warm flesh against warm flesh, mouths fused together. Moaning, Harry tried to speed up their movements again, but Devon wrapped his long legs around his husband’s and continued the slow build of arousal. A restless hand carded through his hair in sensuous strokes. The feel of Harry’s balls moving against his, their heated erections spreading pre-come on each other, and the wet heat of Harry’s mouth finally pushed Devon over the edge.

He ripped his mouth away, flinging his head back on his pillow and groaning as his released spilled between them. Harry bucked against him several times before he bowed backward as he came, and then slumped on Devon’s chest.

“Well,” Harry sighed against the sweat damp skin, “that was a fine way to start the day.”

Devon snorted in his ear, and Harry smiled as he cast a cleaning charm without a twitch.

“Show-off!” His mate swatted him.

Harry lifted his head and braced himself against the firm chest. “I am tired of trying to act the role of a blushing virgin, Devon, and we only have another week before the term begins. Can’t we just go somewhere public and let everyone see us kiss so that we can get back to concentrating on training?”

The gold-brown eyes met his, and a hand came up to brush the hair out of his eyes. The bond was open, and Harry could feel the hesitation in the older man, the concern for his safety foremost in his mind.

“I am going to remain a target regardless of what we do about this ‘romance’, love,” he told his mate softly. “You know that.”

Devon closed his eyes tightly and sighed, then he nodded. “Dinner at the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade tonight, then?” came the resigned reply.

hpsshpsshpss

Madam Rosmerta served them herself, her eyes clear but filled with sadness when she greeted Harry. It was still hard to think back to that night in June, Harry thought as he returned the witch’s smile. The scene of a sick and dying Albus Dumbledore taking a broomstick from the older woman tried to replay in his mind, but he squelched it mercilessly. A gentle hand laid over his briefly, and Harry nodded at the unspoken question between them. The sadness he could not hide retreated at the warm touch.

Hermione glanced around the room as casually as she could, taking in the other diners who sat around eating and conversing. The two couples had brought no Auror escorts with them; there had been no need since they had Floo'd directly to the pub, and both Harry and Devon had argued the presence of Aurors would be counter-productive. Several Order members were scattered around the room, at the insistence of Professor McGonagall and Kingsley Shacklebolt, including the odd Vance woman. Her table was the closest to them, and Harry could not help but wonder if the witch was trying to eavesdrop on their purposefully quiet conversation. 

Devon was as attentive to him as the situation dictated. Harry didn’t know whether to grin or be irritated by the over-solicitous behavior, and was careful to hide a grin when he detected mild disgust leaking through the bond. Severus Snape did not fawn over anyone, and for Devon to have to seem attentive to Harry’s every whim was almost more than his mate could stomach. Yet, Harry knew the other man was aware of every eye on them, and comported himself with as much dignity as he could, given the circumstances. The only good thing about this public appearance was that it would satisfy Voldemort that the Potions master was proceeding with his instructions, and continue to assure Severus’ position in the Inner Circle. 

Dinner went quickly despite their efforts not to appear as if they were hurrying, and soon the four of them stood next to the Floo in the dining room with Madam Rosmerta. While they were still within view of most of the patrons, Devon took advantage of a break in the conversation around them, and pulled Harry to one side. He inclined his head enough to brush his lips over Harry’s. The young man did not hesitate to lean into the kiss and deepen it enough to leave them both breathing hard when they separated. A collective gasp went around the room as the pair stepped into the green flames without looking back.

When they were safely back in their dungeon rooms, Harry slumped against Devon. “Well? Do you think we were successful?”

“Time will tell,” Devon said. Guiding them to the couch, he slid an arm around Harry's shoulder and pulled him close.

The wait turned out to be shorter than either of them would have believed. The steely grey light of dawn was creeping along the horizon beyond the Forbidden Forest when a sharp flare of pain reverberated through Harry's scar.

_It was a jubilant Voldemort who greeted Eithne Vance, drawing her out of the circle of Death Eaters to stand in front of him. The long, white fingers reached down to pet the blonde-streaked hair as the woman knelt at his feet._

_“Speak to me, my pet – what news do you bring me from Hogwarts?”_

_“Snape appears to have made some progress, my Lord, acting the besotted, insipid idiot!” The woman sneered as she stood._

_“Excellent, Bellatrix, excellent. As always, Severus has been able to ensure my plans will not fail. We can now prepare for the next step.” His scarlet eyes gleamed with unholy glee._

_“But, Master, the whelp was so close to me that I could smell his repulsive odor!” the woman spat,her light hair slowly turning dark. Her face changed as the Polyjuice wore off, revealing the ravaged visage of Bellatrix Lestrange. “Why can’t I just kill him?”_

_The white, spidery fingers grabbed her by the throat and squeezedf. Voldemort easily lifted her off her feet and threw her to the floor of the stone chamber._

_“You dare to question my instructions, Bella? You will do just what you are told! Crucio!”_

Harry jerked awake as he pulled out of the vision. Devon was already holding him tightly, and relief swept through him when he realized that the only discomfort he felt was a lingering headache.

“That would explain her sudden interest in the Order,” Harry muttered, rubbing his hand over his scar, more out of habit than pain.

“Yet it does not tell us how Bellatrix was able to infiltrate the Order. Someone would have had to provide her with the Grimmauld address,” Devon said grimly, arms tightening around Harry. “Someone will need to check on the fate of the real Eithne Vance, quietly.”

Harry moved closer, seeking comfort and reassurance he knew were not possible in this situation. “She is either already dead, or worse, isn’t she?”

“Yes,” the older man answered honestly, “and we must not allow Bellatrix Lestrange into this school again, in any guise.”

The younger man’s eyes widened with a sudden realization. “I wonder why you weren’t Summoned.”

“Ah, well, the Dark Lord would not want his spy to know about what other spies he might have or where,” Devon told him in a hard, sardonic tone. “Each of us is expendable, and none will stand in the way of his grandiose plans, or so he thinks. By whatever means, Harry, we can not allow any other Death Eaters to infiltrate this school and put students at risk.” 

Harry heard the steel in Devon’s voice and flashed on golden eyes blazing with conviction, nodding in agreement. It took only a few minutes for the pair to dress and follow Devon’s Patronus message up to the Headmistress’ office. McGonagall had pulled her tartan dressing gown on; her hair was falling halfway down her back and a foreboding expression graced her face. She ushered them silently into her office before lighting the fire with a flick of her wand.

“I take it there has been some development that could not wait until a reasonable hour,” the Headmistress stated crisply.

“Bellatrix Lestrange has been in residence in the castle under Polyjuice Potion, Minerva,” Devon told her, still standing.

“Sit down, please.” The witch glared at her Potions master as Harry dropped into one of the chairs in front of her desk. “I can’t concentrate with you looming over me.”

As Devon seated himself beside the young man, the fire flared green, and a rumpled Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped out. With a murmured apology, he slid into the last remaining chair and listened as Devon relayed Harry’s vision. A house-elf popped in with a tea tray, and the Headmistress poured as Harry added his impression to Devon’s narrative. The head of the Hogwarts protection squad was wide awake by the time they had finished, and Devon was glad that both he and Minerva recognized the gravity of the situation. If someone as devoted to the Dark as Bellatrix could slip in and out of the most magically fortified building in the wizarding world, it did not bode well for the Light.

“Who brought Eithne Vance into the Order, Shacklebolt?” Minerva was every inch the Headmistress, and Devon could not hide a smirk.

“She was part of the Old Crowd, having joined just prior to the first downfall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.” The dark wizard rubbed a large hand over his bald head. “Mundungus Fletcher brought her back in just before his unfortunate demise.”

"And after everything that Mundungus did last year, you still trusted him?” Harry was on his feet, his expression enraged. “You know he was stripping the house of Sirius property and selling it!”

“Harry, please.” McGonagall waved him back into his seat, and Devon leaned closer, settling a hand on the stiff arm.

“It might be an excellent time to reconfirm the oath of loyalty for the members of the Order,” the Potions master suggested evenly, seething inside at the danger they had all been in. 

“I agree, Professor.” Shacklebolt's dark chocolate eyes were troubled. “Especially when you consider that Fletcher was already dead by the time ‘Eithne’ attended her first meeting.”

“Meaning there is still another person within the Order who is helping Voldemort,” Harry supplied.

Devon leaned forward, allowing his anger to show on his face. “Someone who is close enough to Harry or one of his friends to be reporting his movements, even the ones that have been spontaneous in nature.”

“It had to be someone who would have been able to direct the attack on the Grangers,” Shacklebolt added thoughtfully. 

Harry stiffened at the softly spoken words, knowing how carefully that information had been guarded. “Could you please send an Order member to check on the real Eithne Vance? Without alerting the bastard that we know?” Harry interjected quietly, the heel of his hand again pressed against his scar.

Devon studied the tired face and haunted eyes of his bond-mate, attempting to shield the worry that he felt looking at the too pale teen. Despite the occasional moment of half-hearted whinging, Harry shouldered the immense responsibility that Albus Dumbledore and Trelawney’s prophecy had placed on his shoulders, and had managed it well. He was instrumental in the great progress they had made this summer, both in foiling the Dark Lord’s plans and locating the Horcruxes they had to destroy. There remained just one week before the term started, and the Potions master wanted nothing more than to allow the young man time to rest up and relax. That was an impossibility as the war against the Dark escalated, though; news of new attacks arrived daily. Perhaps he could make it more enjoyable, however.

“I will see to that, Harry,” Shacklebolt assured him. The tall Auror stood, preparing to take his leave.

“Auror Shacklebolt,” Devon spoke formally.

“Yes, Professor?”

“I know I speak for Harry as well when I say that we stand available to help if we are needed.”

Kingsley bowed formally before disappearing into a flare of green flames.

hpsshpsshpss

They went to the Great Hall for breakfast for the first time later that morning. Harry Floo'd to join Ron and Hermione in their rooms before they made their way down. Devon was already seated at the single table, his head bowed toward the Headmistress in conversation when they entered, and Harry slipped into the vacant chair beside him. Harry had told his friends about the latest vision, grimly relaying their suspicions of a spy high in the Order of the Phoenix leadership. It was quite sobering, that Voldemort could gain a supporter among those people who had seemed so loyal to Albus Dumbledore.

“I wonder if it is one of the Aurors who has joined over the past couple years,” Ron wondered in a low voice, egg yolk dripping from his laden fork as it paused on the way to his mouth. “Kingsley and Tonks recruited loads of them, and Dad brought in a bunch of people from the Ministry.”

“Or maybe one of the other ‘Old Crowd’, like Eithne Vance,” Harry said thoughtfully as he stirred his porridge. 

“We can speculate all day long,” Hermione leaned over Ron to whisper, “but as we have never been to a meeting of the Order, we don’t even know who is in it. It seems foolish to try and guess.”

A small gray owl shot in to the Great Hall, flapping frantically as it made its way toward Ron. He looked up in surprise as the diminutive bird circled his head several times, then reached up to grab him. 

“Pig! What are you doing here? You were supposed to stay at the house.” Ron peeled a roll of parchment off one leg, and held out a small piece of bacon. “Well, you might as well just go up to the Owlery.”

The little owl took off, flying a loop around the room before shooting back out the window. Ron shook his head as he unrolled the scroll. Harry finished his breakfast as he watched his best mate’s forehead crease into a frown.

“I think my dad’s gone mental,” Ron said softly, gesturing toward the note. “He wants to make sure the three of us will be in London by tea time on Sunday, says Mum is making something special.”

It was Hermione’s turn to look perplexed. “Doesn’t he remember that we are meeting our mums at the Leaky Cauldron that morning?”

“Or that I’m not spending the night there?” Harry asked, uneasy at the uncharacteristic lapse by the Weasley patriarch.

“The poor man is working so much, Harry, I doubt half the time he knows what day it is,” Hermione interjected.

“Yeah.” Ron stuck the note in his pocket and pushed his plate away. “Dad seems to be gone all the time anymore, either at the Ministry or out in the field. I know Mum has been really worried about him.”

It seemed to Harry that Mrs. Weasley wasn’t the only one worried, and he pushed his own plate away. “I’m sorry, mate, I tend to forget that your dad is in the thick of things out there.”

The tall redhead lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “You have enough to worry about, Harry.”

“If this maudlin display is finished, I believe we have a matter to attend to.” Devon Prince stood behind Harry, one hand resting lightly on the young man’s shoulder.

Ron rolled his eyes at the Potions master and then blanched as he realized what he’d just done. Hermione and Harry dissolved into laughter as Devon smirked. A sigh escaped him, and Ron grinned sheepishly as the older wizard ushered the teenagers toward the dungeons. The easy acceptance of his sexual preference and his choice of a partner by his best friends was something that continued to amaze Harry. He was realistic enough to know that the current guise his mate wore was a big factor, at least in Ron’s case; Harry knew he would never have rolled his eyes at Severus Snape in his dark, scowling glory. 

They spent their morning in the Chamber of Secrets, going over the last of the Slytherin journals and notes concerning the reuniting of soul fragments. It was frustrating for Harry to have every piece of the complex spell documented except for the spell that would prepare a container to receive the soul fragment. Hermione believed that Slytherin was only concerned with repairing the damage Dark magic, his focus on helping his son, not ripping apart and storing his soul. That left the containment spell as something that Tom Riddle had invented, Harry reasoned, and the sheer evilness of the intent to contain a piece ripped from your soul with the intent to use it for immortality made his skin crawl. 

The remainder of the week was spent down in the secret stone Chamber, where the ambient magic created an ideal environment for learning and practicing some of the more advanced Defense spells Devon wanted them to master. Harry continued to memorize the soul-rebinding spells in both Parseltongue and the Latin translation. Even chanting them in his mind, he could feel that the Parseltongue was more potent, magically. The incantations were borderline Dark, mainly because they dealt with the torn essence of what made each person human, and logically it was the spells' intent that would decide if they were Light or Dark. Nevertheless, Harry found he could only practice for short periods of time before the Darkness began to prickle his skin like spiders crawling on him.

His soul-mate insisted that a portion of the afternoons be spent in relaxation, and Harry could feel the concern through their bond. The three friends spent the time doing something physical, usually incorporating something Ron thought would hone their Quidditch skills. For Harry, the exercise allowed him to work through some of the tension in his body as well as give him time to mull over the many things rolling around in his head. Flying was his favorite form of training, and the continued heat wave had Harry and Ron diving into the lake when the work-outs left them hot and sweaty. Devon generally joined them at some point, at times participating and other times just watching.

The afternoon before they were to join the returning students on the Hogwarts Express, Harry and Devon Floo'd back to Dumbledore House. The dinner Dobby had provided was a candle-lit affair on a table set up in the secluded back garden, which had Devon snorting at the house-elf’s romantic leanings. The Beef Wellington and Yorkshire pudding were delicious, as was the red wine served with it. It was a comfortable quiet and peaceful way to end the hols, Harry thought.

Later that evening, the damp, naked teenager sprawled across the large four-poster in their bedroom while the older man showered. He retrieved the well-worn piece of parchment with the list of Horcruxes he had written that first afternoon the four of them had Floo'd to the Potions master’s chambers, and looked at what he had written:

> **Horcruxes:  
>  ~~Riddle diary~~  
>  ~~Slytherin ring~~  
>  Slytherin locket - Voldemort  
>  ~~Hufflepuff cup~~  
>  ~~Gryffindor dagger~~  
>  Nagini - ? – Dead  
> HJP - ?  
> Last piece still in Riddle**

Harry folded the list, returning it to his bedside table. They had made tremendous progress finding the Horcruxes as Dumbledore had asked him too, but at least two pieces of Tom Riddle’s soul were still under the bastard’s control. There was nothing to prevent Voldemort from making another Horcrux, Harry thought, idly wondering exactly how many pieces a soul could be ripped into and still be viable. One hand reached up and rubbed the lightning bolt scar, and he speculated how large a piece had lodged in it. 

“Lovely,” a dark chocolate voice whispered as oiled fingers stroked across the swell of his arse, trailing down the cleft.

With a groan, Harry looked over his shoulder to meet the obsidian eyes that inhabited his dreams. “Severus…”

“I thought you might enjoy having me for our last evening.”

“Yes,” the young man breathed, his smile radiant.

The slender man knelt on the bed behind him, fingers continuing their deep massage. A line of kisses was pressed down the path taken by the fingers, and Harry gasped. Those marvelous hands separated his cheeks, and he pushed back into the wet tongue that swiped across his entrance. Held firmly and tormented by hands, fingers, and tongue, Harry was soon begging for Severus to take him. The feel of his mate sliding into him, filling him, pushed the worries over Horcruxes and Dark Lords from his mind. Harry let the sensations wash over him and for a brief while, just allowed himself to feel.

* * *


	36. Hogwarts Express

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-HBP: Dumbledore said it was our choices that defined us. Can Harry make the hard choices?

* * *

A number of people already sat at the scrubbed wood table in the kitchen of number twelve Grimmauld place when Harry and Devon Flooed in early the next morning. Molly Weasley swept Harry into a bone-crushing hug before he could brush the soot off his clothes, and he saw Devon take a healthy step to the side to avoid the same fate. Everyone at the table was watching, particularly Ron, who rolled his eyes, and Harry smiled over the older woman’s shoulder at them. Two of the younger Aurors from the Hogwarts squad sat at the far end, watching the exchange.

“Harry! I am so glad to see you!” The Weasley matriarch smoothed her hand along his hair. “You look so serious, my dear.”

There was a sad note to her voice, Harry thought as he hugged her back. He wasn't certain if her sorrow was because she was seeing them go off to their last year of school, or due to the battle he was destined to fight. The last few months had exacted been hard on her: she was much thinner than when Harry had first met her, with white hair frosting the ginger strands. He released her and watched as she leaned over to pat Devon on the arm in greeting. Again Harry was reminded that this war against Voldemort was taking its toll on everyone, and fought the urge to reassure the woman who had been like a surrogate mother to him that everything would be alright. Ginny was waiting behind her mother for her hug, her brown eyes shadowed.

Ron gestured to the chair beside him, which Harry dropped into. Devon stood behind him. Molly bustled about, wand waving, as platters of food began to sail on to the table. The Grangers greeted them quietly; Hermione’s mum gave Harry a genuine smile, and her father reached over to shake his hand. Harry watched was everyone took turns loading their plate, taking only a piece of toast for himself — both he and Devon had been treated to fresh fruit crepes by an exuberant Dobby before they had left Dumbledore House. A warm hand settled on his shoulder, and he did not have to look at his mate to know that Devon had noted the absence of Arthur Weasley. 

The fireplace flared green and Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped out of the Floo, dressed in uncharacteristically somber robes of charcoal gray. Devon moved to join him, drawing the Auror to the far side of the kitchen. Harry could not help but watch the two tall men, such a contrast between light and dark, although he worried about the grim, set expression on the face of the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. He wondered if perhaps the body of Eithne Vance had been found. Remus had told them Saturday evening that the Aurors sent to check on the small cottage in which the witch had lived for years had triggered elaborate wards. The cottage had imploded when they attempted to gain entry, but no one had been inside at the time. At least, Harry thought fiercely, the bitch responsible for his godfather’s death no longer had access to the Order or his friends. 

Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks stepped through the doorway into the kitchen, hand in hand. Tonks moved toward the table, where she greeted Harry with a quiet word and tousled his hair, while Remus moved to speak to Devon and Kingsley. Resisting the temptation to open their bond, Harry watched out of the corner of his eye as a quiet, but heated discussion started between the wizards. Devon gestured toward Harry, a short chopping motion. Harry knew that whatever the argument, his mate was indicating that the teenager was of the same opinion. With a curt nod, Kingsley disappeared back through the green flames of the Floo and Devon moved back to sat behind Harry

“Good morning, Harry,” Remus said cheerfully as he sat down beside his fiancée. “Are you ready for this?”

“As ready as I will ever be, Remus,” the teenager returned the smile.

By the time they assembled just outside the peeling front door of number twelve Grimmauld Place, there were several additional members of the Order of the Phoenix waiting for them. Ginny’s trunk was sent ahead to her dorm at Hogwarts by Dobby, and each of the teenagers carried a rucksack that held their incidental items and student robes. Harry fell into step beside Devon, with Ron and Hermione walking behind them and a disguised Tonks paired up with Ginny. Remus trailed the group, and Molly and Hestia Jones were in front of them. The other Order members seemed to melt into the surroundings, keeping out of sight during their walk down the wet sidewalks. Unlike the past week in Scotland, London was unseasonably cold and foggy with a fine mist in the air, and Harry could not help but shiver despite the jumper and leather jacket he wore. Devon moved closer; their arms brushed, and Harry was reassured by the fleeting touch.

Harry let out a sigh of relief when the train station's clock tower came into view. They were within a block of their destination; once they were on the platform, he could relax. Crossing the street, Harry noticed a colder wind kicking up, pressing against them until his steps faltered and he stopped. The small group lurched to a halt behind him, just as Harry felt the first pull of the retched emotions that told him they were no longer alone. 

Grabbing Ginny by the hand, he pushed her forward. “Get to the platform, Ginny! There are Dementors coming.”

A jet of red spell-light flashed before she could get away, and Harry dove to the side, colliding with Devon as he pushed him out of the way.

“Dementors are the least of your problems, itty bitty baby Potter!” Bellatrix Lestrange’s shrilly voice sent a chill down his spine 

The sound of multiple Apparitions filled his ears as Harry turned to face the dark-haired witch, the light of insanity glowing in the over-bright eyes as she cackled gleefully. He blocked another jet of purple spell-light, his mate now back to back with him. The chill in the air continued to deepen, and Harry knew if he looked up he would see the dark mass of Dementors closing in. Dodging to the left, he spun away from Bellatrix as he conjured the image of their bonding.

_“Expecto Patronum!”_

The teenager did not stop to watch Prongs leap from the end of his wand, nor did he look at Remus Lupin, who shouted the Charm as well. Instead, he and Devon turned to deal with Bellatrix as the chill waned. The others pulled in, their backs together as they faced at least two dozen black-robed figures, some masked and some not. Several of them Harry instantly recognized from the battle at the Department of Mysteries the previous June, especially the Lestrange brothers. The small group of Order members and teenagers engaged the rest immediately, the many different colors of spell-light co-mingling in the small area. Ginny yelped as a curse broke through her shielding, blood blossoming on the front of her white blouse. Anger surged through Harry when Hestia Jones fell to his left, and in a flash of golden light, half of the ring of Death Eaters dropped to the ground, stunned. 

_Harry, concentrate on dueling! You cannot let the Dark Lord know the true extent of your power!”_ his mate advised him through their bond as he stunned another masked opponent.

With a grim nod, Harry brought his attention back to the Lestranges; Bellatrix continued to cast hexes at him, all the while engaging in a verbal tirade about blood purity. He saw Devon dodge a stunner from the witch, at the same time Rudolphus Lestrange cast a silent spell at Molly Weasley, and Harry pushed another Death Eater back. Dodging a cutting hex, Harry responded with a bone-breaking spell that missed the witch and hit a large Death Eater behind her, who dropped to the ground, screaming. Ron’s shouted warning alerted him to a rush from behind, and the redhead, Hermione, and Tonks formed a wall to protect the rest of them. Another small group of Order members moved around behind their small group, casting spells at the Death Eaters, and several more went down in the crossfire. Ducking low and to the left, Harry cast a _Stupefy_ as Bellatrix continued her verbal abuse. 

“And a mere half-blood exiled you from your beloved pure-blood family!” he jeered as he avoided another curse, disgusted by her tirade.

The witch exploded in fury, throwing hexes in a random pattern as the two Lestrange brothers rejoined her. The Darkness of the spells increased, and Harry was careful to keep up the shielding around himself and Devon. A Cruciatus Curse ripped through suddenly, and Harry felt pain explode through the bond like fire running through his nerve endings. His bond-mate dropped to the ground, writhing in pain. Flicking his wand, Harry threw a hex that slammed Rabastan Lestrange into the side of a brick building. Harry whirled as he remembered Dumbledore doing in his duel at the Ministry, and Apparated a meter to the side, petrifying the second Lestrange brother with ease. Bellatrix had moved to stand over Devon, her lip curled in disdain as she pointed her wand at him, and spoke the incantation for the Killing Curse. Harry’s world narrowed to the jet of green spell-light that erupted from the end of that wand. He was instantly moving toward Devon’s side, incanting in Parseltongue the strongest shielding spell noted in Slytherin’s ancient parchments. A translucent golden barrier appeared, growing rapidly to cover the unconscious Potions master. The green spell-light brushed Harry’s shoulder as it passed, hitting the shield and throwing him to the side, even as the shield held. A deep reverberation sounded as the spell rebounded, returning to strike Bellatrix Black Lestrange in the chest. She dropped to the wet sidewalk, dead.

Harry’s left shoulder felt like it had exploded, the pain more excruciating than the Cruciatus . He stumbled and fell to his knees next to the witch’s body, the world graying around him for a moment. Guilt flooded him, but the image of his godfather’s laughing face flitted across his mind, erasing any remorse for the death of Bellatrix Lestrange,. Devon groaned, and Harry felt a hand grasp his thigh hard, pulling him back to reality. Harry looked around frantically, trying to assess their situation. Ginny was down and not moving; Remus nowhere to be seen; Tonks and Hermione still dueled with three masked Death Eaters. Ron was binding another, standing close to his mother as she defended the fallen Hestia. There were at least a half-dozen black-robed figures standing in front of them, most staring dumbfounded at the fallen Bellatrix.

“Stun the rest, Harry - quickly, so no one can escape!” Devon hissed as he pushed himself to his feet, his breath ragged.

Harry narrowed his eyes at the Lestrange brothers, who had recovered their wits and were raising their wands toward him and Devon. With a surge of protectiveness, Harry waved his hand and the brothers, along with the remaining attackers, were stunned and magically bound. Another wave set up anti-Apparation barriers. It had been less than ten minutes since the Dementors had appeared, and now at least two people lay dead in the street. Robed Aurors began to appear out of nowhere, immediately taking into custody the bound Death Eaters. Remus reappeared, kneeling next to Hestia Jones, and Harry watched Molly Weasley limp her way to Ginny, who was still unconscious on the ground. Harry sagged with relief when he saw the distinct lime green robes of St. Mungo’s healers arrive to treat the injured. Devon swayed beside him, and Harry reached out a hand to steady both of them. Ron appeared at Harry’s side and slipped an arm around his waist, holding him up. 

“The healers are going to take Ginny to St. Mungo’s to make sure she is alright,” Ron said quietly, his eyes running an assessing eye over them. “Mate, you look like you should go with them…”

“No!” Harry said firmly, gritting his teeth against the pain pulsing through his left side. “The Head Boy and Girl need to be on the train, Ron.”

Hermione was on Devon’s left, her eyes wide and worried. “But Harry, you need to have them look at you! I saw the curse—”

“Later, Hermione, I promise,” Harry said quietly but firmly.

A vial of Pepper-Up Potion appeared from the somewhere, presumably the Potions master’s jacket, and Harry felt guilty enough to shoot him a sheepish look. He had been trying to block out the surges of pain that shot through his left side, knowing his mate had also been hurt. The golden eyes lingered on his face, and Harry knew that at some point he was going to have to tell the older man what had happened. He would suffer his wrath when it came; it could not be helped at the moment. The wizarding world expected to see the Boy Who Lived on the Hogwarts Express that morning, and he was not going to back down from the promise he had made the Headmistress.

“Drink it! We will proceed to make your necessary appearance to the adoring crowds on the platform and the train,” Devon told him acidly, “and then collapse in the nearest compartment!”

hpsshpsshpss

Half an hour later Devon dragged his aching body into the first compartment, the one traditionally reserved for the Head Boy and Head Girl. Adjacent to the compartment the Prefects used, it was also the place where any teacher traveling to Hogwarts would rest, so no one would think it unusual for him to be there. The train swayed as it went around a curve, chugging along the tracks as they left greater London behind. Word of the attack had spread quickly, but Harry had stood tall and straight on the platform, welcoming many of the returning students by name, and reassuring parents that all was well. Albus Dumbledore would have been proud of the mature young man today. Yet, Devon could see the immense pain Harry was in the whole while, most of which he had blocked from their bond, and the Potions master moved immediately to his bag where he carried his potions kit.

The door flung open and the three teenagers bustled in, Ron and Hermione supporting his mate. His wand was instantly in his hand, and Devon transfigured one of the bench seats into a bed. Ron hefted Harry up as Hermione drew her wand and levitated the semi-conscious Head Boy on it.

“What—”

Hermione cut him off, her eyes flashing and anger in her voice. “He’s a bloody idiot, Devon! I saw the Killing Curse brush him as he was conjuring the shield in front of you, but no, Harry Bloody Potter can’t show any weakness! He had to be on the platform like nothing had happened! He should have gone to St. Mungo’s with Ginny!” 

Devon could hear the worry mingled with the anger as Hermione brushed the damp hair back from Harry’s forehead. His own heart stopped at her words, and he found himself across the compartment, his potions bag in hand, as he dropped to his knees beside Harry. 

“Miss Granger, a silencing charm, if you would.” Devon tilted Harry’s head just in time to see the emerald eyes roll back in his head. “Harry!”

The surge of pain that ripped through the bond as Harry lost his ability to keep blocking it tore Devon’s breath from him. He had to get the potions in the young man before he could start any healing.

“Mr. Weasley, your assistance, please.”

With Ron supporting Harry’s head and shoulders, they were able to get the teenager to swallow the vile tasting potion that would ease the after effects of the Cruciatus the pair had shared through their bond; Devon had taken one of them himself when they had first gotten to the train. An analgesic potion and general healing potion followed, dampening the pain filtered through the bond, before Devon began to cast healing spells that he had learned out of necessity as a boy. He cast them on Ron and Hermione as well, after detecting residual spell energy on them, and then handed the young witch a vial of bruise paste to attend to the bruise she was sporting on the side of her face. With Ron’s help, they peeled Harry's shirt off and settled him back on the bed. Hermione gasped at the extensive bruising along her friend’s left shoulder and flank. With infinite care, Devon began to coat the purpling skin with the bruise cream.

A knock sounded at the door before it opened to reveal Remus Lupin. The amber eyes took in the scene as he stepped quickly through and magically locked the door behind him.

“I’ve just had a message from Tonks: she says Ginny will have to stay at St. Mungo’s a day or two, but she will be fine.”

Ron sighed with relief. “Thank you, Remus.”

The older wizard nodded, his eyes on the Harry’s pale face and battered torso. Devon could tell from the pinched look around the werewolf’s eyes that he too had seen the teenager brushed by the _Avada Kedavra_. A shiver ran the length of Devon’s spine; anyone other than this particular young wizard would have likely died. He moved to change places with Ron, cradling Harry’s head in his lap, his thumb surreptitiously stroking the soft skin of Harry's throat.

“How is Hestia Jones, Remus?”

Harry’s voice was low but tight with emotion, and Devon stroked a hand through the unruly hair. A war-weary look flashed across the former professor’s face, and the Potions master gripped his mate tighter as Lupin shook his head. Harry inhaled sharply, and grief and guilt washed through the bond. Devon gritted his teeth as he watched his bond-mate drop his pain-filled eyes.

Devon leaned down to hiss in Harry’s ear. “Potter! You are no more responsible for this death than you are any of the deaths the Dark Lord has orchestrated!”

Harry’s eyes squeezed tightly shut before they slowly reopened. Sadness darkened the brilliant green eyes as the searched his, while Devon continued to stroke through the soft hair. Oblivious to the concerned eyes that watched, safe in the knowledge that these people would protect them both, he sank into the bond they shared, opening the barrier. 

_He was greeted by a wave of remorse so strong it rocked him back on his heels . Harry sat on the floor of a darkened room, knees pulled up to his chest and face in shadows. It was a younger Harry, just barely a teenager, who looked up at him._

_"I let Wormtail live, Severus, doesn’t that make me at least partially responsible for everything that has happened since? It was my blood that he used to come back, how can I not share the blame? Cedric, Sirius, Hestia Jones, they all died directly or indirectly because of me!”_

_Severus sank to the floor beside the boy and eased the slim form into his lap. This was the scared little boy hiding in the cupboard of Harry’s youth, the part of the Chosen One that felt the pain of each death, each loss to a family, and cried in sorrow over them. The very core of the power that pulsed through them both was the love that triggered the sadness, and Severus knew that with one, came the other. Definitely out of his element, Severus could only rock the boy back and forth, allowing Harry to cling tightly to the front of his robes for several long moments._

_“Bellatrix wanted to kill you, and would have if…” came Harry's agonized whisper. “Do you think…”_

_“She killed herself, Harry; all you did was shield me. As for the Dark Lord, I will continue to be vigilant, which is truly all I can do, Bella had always distrusted me.” He felt the head nod against his chest._

_“Severus, where is Mr. Weasley?”_

_Severus could only shake his head and grip Harry tighter. They both knew that the information on their route and means of getting to King’s Cross had been a carefully guarded secret known to only a few._

_“I sincerely wish I knew, love.”_

_With a heavy sigh, the boy pulled away, one hand lingering to caress the side of Severus’ face before Harry climbed off his lap and stood. “I suppose it is time to return to reality.” His mouth crooking in a lop-sided smile, he extended a hand to Severus._

_Wrapping his arms around the slight figure, Severus pressed a kiss into the soft raven hair. “Are you truly all right, Harry?”_

_“I… think so, although my shoulder and side hurt, and I feel drained.”_

_“You need to rest.” Severus frowned down at him._

_“Will you stay with me?” The wistful look would have melted the hardest heart._

_“Yes.”_

Harry opened his eyes. The residual warmth of the love his mate had left behind chased the sadness to the corner of his mind. Devon Prince still sat on the bed, Harry’s head cradled in his lap, while Hermione stood beside them with a worried look on her face. Remus watched with a concerned expression, eyes pointedly sweeping the bruising still visible on Harry's bared shoulder. Ron sat on the seat across from them, his face pale as he stared unblinking at his intertwined hands. Conjuring up a small and hopefully reassuring smile, Harry closed heavy eyes and slipped into sleep, secure in the knowledge that he would be safe.

hpsshpsshpss

Pain flared through his scar as vague images danced at the periphery of Harry's mind. He could hear faint voices whispering, and one in particular seemed familiar in both tone and cadence. Harry strained to make out what was being said, frowning as Voldemort’s high, cold voice became clearer, expressing his displeasure at Bellatrix Lestrange’s death. Exploding in fury, the evil wizard began to curse Harry’s name, casting a Cruciatus Curse on the unlucky person who had brought him the news. The figure of a tall, slender man writhed on the floor just visible to him; the agony he saw made Harry thankful he no longer suffered directly the excruciating pain Voldemort's curses caused. Still, as the curse continued there was enough residual pain through his scar to drag him from sleep.

“Harry? What is it?” Ron gently restrained his hands as Harry tried to claw at his scar.

“Vision,” he managed to say as he allowed Ron to help him sit up. 

The compartment was empty, Harry saw as he sipped from a goblet of water Ron conjured for him. He looked at his friend in inquiry, and the redhead shrugged his shoulders, not quite meeting his eyes.

"Devon is strolling to train to keep up appearances, and Hermione went to see if she could find the witch with the trolley.”

Harry nodded and with a wave of his hand transfigured the bed back into a seat. He leaned back to press one hand to his throbbing forehead. He sat forward as Ron went back to studying the back of his freckled hand. When he glanced outside, Harry could see the gathering shadows; he must have slept for several hours.

“Harry?”

The aching in his scar had receded slightly, but the anguish in his best mate’s voice pushed everything else aside. He looked up to see Ron’s blue eyes filled with pain and fear, a kind of fear he’d never seen before.

“Do you think… did you see my dad anywhere this morning?”

“No,” Harry whispered, desperate to find something that would be reassuring, “maybe he was delayed…”

“Did you notice… has he been acting… different towards you lately?” Ron reached out as if to grab him, but pulled back.

“I…”

The door slid open and Hermione slipped in, juggling several bottles and packages. Ron immediately stood to help her, and Harry dropped his head into his hands. It seemed that Ron had also noticed that Arthur Weasley had been acting out of character It was not even something that Harry could explain, really, just that something was not right. He heard the door slide open once again, and knew without looking up that his mate had returned. A hand threaded through his hair, and he looked up to see a familiar vial dangling in front of his face.

“Thanks.” Devon settled as Harry sat up and downed the foul liquid.

“Was there anything in your vision that we might need to know?” his mate prompted him as they accepted pumpkin pasties from Hermione.

Harry swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, and took a sip of the juice they were sharing. “Someone escaped the fight we had outside of King’s Cross, but he must not have seen my wandless magic, because he only told Voldemort that I had killed Bellatrix. His voice seemed familiar, but I couldn’t tell who it was.”

“Why would this man only tell him that?” Ron asked quietly, the pasties in his hand forgotten as a horror flared in the blue eyes.

“I don’t know, Ron, maybe he is being forced to do it or something. Whoever it was, he was punished harshly for bringing such terrible news,” Harry told him quietly. He could see Ron grasp the notion tightly to his chest, hope displacing the horror.

The golden eyes watched the interaction, and Harry saw an eyebrow arch in question, but shook his head minutely. There would be time to explain later, he thought as the headache that had hidden behind the throbbing of his scar decided to reassert itself. Finishing the pasty in his hand, Harry brushed the crumbs off his fingers and laid down on the seat, his legs curled up, his head resting on Devon’s thigh. Fingers immediately threaded in his hair and began to gently card threw it. Harry sighed, and allowed the gentle swaying of the train and the quiet conversation buzzing above him to lull him back to sleep. 

The train lurched, waking him. Harry was instantly aware of his surroundings. Devon held his head on his lap with one hand, while the other gripped Dumbledore’s wand tightly. Ron was already on his feet, sliding the door of the compartment open, Hermione at his heels. The torches flickered and dimmed as the temperature in the compartment plummeted. Harry struggled to sit up, only to find himself captive in his mate’s lap. He couldn’t let his friends go out there and face Dementors without him, what would they do without him to protect them?

“But what if something happens to them?” 

The words fell out of his mouth before he could stop them, his greatest fear laid bare. It was so much easier for Harry to handle it when he the one who got hurt, and Devon knew that. They had discussed this problem before, and while Harry knew he was too drained to be any help, the thought of those he loved put in harm's way for a second time that day scared him. He squirmed uncomfortably.

“Potter!” the Potions master of old snarled, his tone mitigated by the hand still stroking threw his hair. “Allow someone else the chance to play hero this time!”

The acid that dripped from the words equated worry to Harry, and he subsided, turning to press his face against the freezing windowpane. As he watched, a dozen bright, silvery creatures flew upwards from the moving train, chasing the swirling Dementors from the sky.


	37. Facing Reality

* * *

It took the combined efforts of both Harry and his mate to convince Poppy Pomfrey that Harry was well enough to make an appearance at the Welcoming Feast. The Headmistress had taken the news of the second attack on them stoically, her eyes narrowing at Kingsley Shacklebolt, as he stood nervously in front of the fireplace in the anteroom adjacent to the Great Hall. Flitwick was gathering the first years from the boats as the mediwitch finally gave her consent to for Harry to attend, after eliciting a promise from him to go directly to bed. The others made their way out of the room as Devon helped Harry into his school robes, his new Head Boy badge pinned where the Gryffindor patch had been in past years. Hermione’s House affiliation had been replaced as well, in an effort to make the pair representative of all the Houses. 

After a squeeze of Harry's shoulder, Professor Prince preceded him into the Great Hall. Harry waited until Devon was seated before sweeping into the Hall and sitting down at the end of the Slytherin table. The closest students shifted in the seats at his appearance, but did not move away. Hermione smiled at him from her seat among the Hufflepuffs as the Headmistress took her seat and nodded toward the far end of the Hall. Harry used the time taken up by the Sorting of the first years to check his Occlumency barriers, and winced as he became aware of the pain potion wearing off. 

The scene from that afternoon suddenly replayed in his mind, and Harry watched again in horror as Bellatrix Lestrange raised her wand and incanted the Killing Curse. The eerie green spell-light flashed at the fallen form of his bond-mate just as a burst of applause pulled him from his nightmare. A bitter taste lingered in Harry's mouth as he fastened his eyes on the small stool where a boy with light brown hair was being Sorted. He knew that he did not dare glance at the staff table, and clasped his unsteady hands in his lap. Had Bellatrix been told to single out Devon for killing? Surely the Death Eaters were aware of the Potions master’s identity, especially the witch who had so recently infiltrated the ranks of the Order of the Phoenix. Was Voldemort aware of Severus’ deception after all?

A wave of soothing energy flowed through him, and Harry closed his eyes tightly, allowing it to wash over him and soothe him. Devon did not attempt to mitigate his fears, only to calm him until they were able to discuss them privately. A feeling of dread hovered in the back of his mind, and Harry tried to keep his concern to himself. If Voldemort had indeed begun to doubt Severus Snape, then there had to be someone else in the Order who was a spy, as their tracks had been well covered with Bellatrix, Harry thought. The information on the Horcruxes would have to remain a closely guarded secret, and for once, Harry was glad that he had resisted the urge to bring others into the search.

“Welcome!” Headmistress McGonagall’s amplified voice boomed over the thunderous sound of voices in the Great Hall. “I am pleased to see so many returning students, and to welcome the first-years to Hogwarts School!” Her dark eyes swept the assembled students. “It gives me great pleasure to announce the appointment of Kingsley Shacklebolt as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, and Potions master Devon Prince has joined the staff as your new Potions teacher.”

There was a polite spattering of applause before the witch gave the word and the feast magically appeared on the tables. Harry could see Ron piling food on his plate as he sat near the at the end of the Gryffindor table, Seamus Finnegan and Neville Longbottom seated next to him, Lavender Brown a noticeable distance away. Harry hid a smile, wondering how Ron was weathering his former girlfriend’s scorn. Silence reigned at his end of the Slytherin table, and Harry did not push himself on any of the younger students seated around him. Several glanced at him covertly, but was quick to look away as if avoiding eye contact.

The food smelled delicious, but Harry’s stomach twisted at the thought of eating any of the heavy fare, and he contented himself with a small portion of mashed potatoes and some pumpkin juice. He knew that Dobby could bring him some toast later, if he was hungry, and spent more time pushing the white congealing mess around his plate than eating it. His mind kept straying to thoughts of Mr. Weasley’s absence that morning, and his odd behavior since the discovery of Bellatrix’s impersonation of Eithne Vance. Although the Order had never found an identifiable body, every instinct Harry had said the woman had to be dead. Harry shuddered at the memory of a lake filled with Inferi; he hoped that had not been the witch’s fate. 

The Headmistress finally stood and made her beginning of term announcements, and Harry hid a smile at the lengthy list of new Wheezes' products added to the list of items banned from the school. Mr. Filch glared at the assembled students, Mrs. Norris twisting through his legs as a portion of the list was read. The usual admonishments were given to the first years about the Forbidden Forest, and Harry smiled sadly, as he could hear Albus Dumbledore reciting the same words over the years, flamboyant robes rustling in the draft that always seemed to blow through the Hall. Harry took a deep breath, feeling the tall wizard’s absence in this annual ritual, and wondered when he would stop missing the older man. 

Finally, the prefects, Ron included, were sent to lead the first-years to the appropriate common rooms, and the Great Hall slowly emptied as the chattering students file out. Hermione and Harry joined Professor McGonagall at the Head table, as was the custom for the Head Boy and Girl, so she could escort them to their rooms. A sad smile lingered on the woman’s face, and she reached out to pat Harry on the arm in comfort. The Headmistress examined his face intently, as did the too-shrewd eyes of his best friend.

“I think it best that you have an early evening, Harry,” she told him in a quiet voice as they walked towards the seventh floor. “Thank you both for your actions this afternoon.”

Both teenagers smiled in acknowledgment as they followed the witch into the suite of rooms, where a fire already blazed merrily in the fireplace. Surprisingly, Devon Prince stood waiting, the golden eyes taking in Harry’s pale face. The fire flared, and Ron stepped out followed by a somber Kingsley Shacklebolt. Minerva McGonagall narrowed her eyes, knowing it had to be important for Kingsley to have Flooed through.

 

“Minerva, I just received a message from Tonks,” the Auror hesitated as his eyes scanned the room.

“Everyone here is trustworthy, Shacklebolt,” she snapped. “What did the message say?”

“I sent Dawlish to check on Arthur Weasley at the Ministry after what happened on the way to King's Cross Station this morning. When he arrived, he found Arthur on the floor of his office, having some kind of a seizure,” the Auror paused "and Percy Weasley standing over him with his wand out. Percy insisted that he was trying to help his father, who was already on the floor when he arrived.”

“And you do not believe him?” Devon asked quietly.

Hermione moved to slip an arm around Ron, whose face had gone white, and Harry put his hand on his friend’s arm and led them to the couch.

Kingsley shook his head. “No, there were several Aurors in their office right outside Arthur’s door who reported that Percy had been in there for at least fifteen minutes before Dawlish arrived, and they would have easily heard him shout for help.”

“Where is he now?” Ron asked unsteadily.

“They took him to St. Mungo’s, where the healers are trying to determine what spell he was placed under. They have your dad and Ginny in a private room with an Auror guard,” Kingsley told the teenager. “Your mum is with them, and she will let us know the minute they find out something.”

Anger and frustration welled up in Harry as Kingsley went on to tell them that Percy Weasley was being held until they could interrogate him under Veritaserum, which would not be until early morning. The Aurors were still investigating that earlier attack, as well the subsequent Dementor attack on the Hogwarts Express. The Minister of Magic had been oddly quiet on the subject of his junior assistant, apparently, awaiting the outcome of interrogation. 

“The new head Auror, Gawain Robards, is personally conducting the investigation,” the new professor tried to reassure the teenagers.

Ron tried to stand up, but was gently restrained by Hermione. “I need to get to St. Mungo’s…”

Kingsley shook his head. “Your mum said to tell you to stay at Hogwarts, where she would know you were safe, Ron. They have put your dad in a magical coma until they can isolate the curse that was used on him, and Bill and Fleur are taking care of your mum. Besides, they may be able to release Ginny tomorrow afternoon, and Molly thought you might help her by coming to escort her back to school.”

The redhead nodded dumbly, leaning heavily on his girlfriend as the Auror took his leave. Minerva McGonagall reached out and laid her hand on Ron’s head for a moment in silent support before quietly bidding them all goodnight. Devon had moved to stand next to the couch. His hand reached out to rest briefly on Ron’s shoulder before handing Hermione two vials of potion that Harry recognized as Dreamless Sleep.

“I believe that Miss Weasley could be accommodated in Harry’s bedroom for a while if the Headmistress has no objection,” he told Ron quietly as Harry stood to join him. 

“I’ll meet you up here in the morning, mate.” Harry leaned down to hug his friend, exchanging a long look with Hermione. “I’ll be here in a heartbeat if you need me.”

“You need to get some rest as well, Harry,” she said sternly. “I seem to remember you getting in the way of a Killing Curse today.”

Devon drew him away. “I will see to that, Hermione, if I have to bind him to the bed.”

Hermione grinned, and even Ron snorted in amusement. Harry rolled his eyes, but followed his bond-mate into the Floo. Spinning between fireplaces wrenched his body and revived the pain that had throbbed just beneath the surface. His muscles protested the rough treatment; Harry tried not to groan, not wanting a mouth full of soot. Devon was there when he stumbled out into their sitting room, supporting him as the pain lanced through his shoulder. 

Ignoring his protests, Devon guided him into the bedroom, banishing his clothing so quickly Harry shivered in the cool dungeon air. “I need to—”

“You need to lie down, Harry, and let me take care of you,” Devon’s voice purred in his ear.

With a sigh, Harry crawled carefully onto the bed. Gingerly stretching out on his stomach, he buried his face in Devon’s pillow. A warm, wet cloth worked over his back and down his legs, gently cleaning him. Harry rolled over on his back as Devon directed him to, eyes still tightly closed, and the flannel continued with swift, impersonal strokes. When the flannel’s motions stopped, the teenager settled again on his stomach and accepted the vial of pain reliever the Potions master held out to him. He did not want to think about Mr. Weasley or Percy or Tonks or anything, and buried his face back into the pillow.

Devon poured a palm full of Bruise-Ease into his hand, allowing the viscous substance to warm for a moment as he studied the tense lines of Harry’s shoulders. The young man carried so much weight on his shoulders, taking on so many cares that he should not have to be concerned about. One of the heaviest burdens was his belief that had he allowed Black to kill Pettigrew in his third year, the Dark Lord never would have been able to resurrect himself—so many deaths, Harry felt, would not have happened. The older man had found this particularly poignant piece of remorse buried deep in Harry’s subconscious, and had been at a loss at how to bring it forth to be dealt with during their chaotic summer. 

A silent sigh escaped Devon as he moved up on to the bed and carefully straddled Harry’s thighs, leaning over to rub the potion into the fading bruises with gentle hands. An appreciative groan made his lips twitch as he continued to massage muscles taut with tension, stopping only to warm more of the salve when the need arose. Finding peace in the repetitive motions of his hands and the gradual loosening of the muscles beneath him, Devon continued his massage down the firm arse and then each leg. The small sounds of pleasure were reward enough as he shifted aside to roll Harry over. 

A smirk emerged as Devon eyed the leaking erection that lay against his mate’s stomach. He ignored it, again straddling Harry’s thighs to massage his chest and arms. The tingling of their combining magic became more intense as both men became aroused, and Devon was fascinated by the small noises Harry made in his throat, something between a moan and a purr. Sliding his fingers down the lean chest, Devon splayed his hands wide as he gently continued to massage the healing potion into Harry’s flesh, enjoying the glide of skin against skin. Keeping his strokes even and with just enough pressure not to tickle, Devon moved across his ribs.

His own arousal wilted a bit as he thought about the scene outside of King’s Cross Station. He was glad that he had been unconscious when that spell hurtled toward him. He was sure his heart would not have been able to take sight of the rebounded jet of light headed toward the teenager, or the sight of it brushing Harry. It was the resulting wave of excruciating pain that pulled him back to consciousness. Since then Devon had realized that the two had become so close in the past two months that he did not think he could survive the loss of his mate, even if there was no bond. 

Harry groaned as Devon's hands moved closer to the one area he had steadfastly ignored, but he bypassed his mate’s groin again, instead continuing down one leg and back up the other. Sure fingers kneaded the tight muscles, the compatible magic helping to warm and stimulate the skin as he touched it. As Devon approached the juncture of thigh and hip, he allowed his fingers to brush repeatedly against the heavy sac and the sensitive skin behind it. The slender hips jerked upward, and his finger tracked back to scratch the nail lightly over the puckered ring of muscle. With a startled cry, Harry spilled his seed over his stomach without a single touch to his cock. Devon shook his head; he was debating which sardonic comment to make when a soft snore interrupted his thoughts. Harry was already asleep, a somewhat goofy smile on his face.

A wave of his hand cast a cleaning charm, and then Devon drew a light blanket over his mate. His own aching cock twitched, demanding attention, and he moved into the bathroom. In moments, he was standing under the hot spray of the large shower, hands running lightly over his body. Allowing the water to cascade over his shoulders and down his chest, Devon washed quickly before dropping his hand to wrap around the base of his erection, gripping it firmly. With a rhythm that he had perfected as a teenager, Devon fisted his cock, his eyes fluttering shut as he imagined Harry kneeling in front of him. His unoccupied hand moved to tug and pinch his nipples, moving back and forth between them. The water spilling over him mimicked the warmth of his bond-mate’s mouth, and in his mind’s eye, he was thrusting between those beautiful lips. The one hand dropped from his chest to grip his balls, rolling them with a rougher hand than Harry would use, but it was enough, and Devon gasped as his climax rolled over him.

hpsshpsshpss

The first week of classes was uneventful; students settled back into their classes and Hogwarts life with little drama. Harry's class schedule had been arranged by the Headmistress and seemed very much like her, without frills and to the point, with only the classes he would sit NEWTs for included: Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Potions, and Transfiguration. Both Ron and Hermione had similar schedules, and there was time built into the schedule for homework and studying during the day. Several double classes a week would give them time for practical work, and still leave the trio’s evenings open for whatever they needed.

For all he had been an arrogant prat, the absence of Draco Malfoy brought the war into Harry’s daily life at a level he had not experienced before. It was a reminder to him every time Harry watched Goyle and Crabbe walk by, wearing perpetual looks of abandonment. In Potions, the chair Malfoy had occupied with such a superior attitude for the prior six years remained conspicuously empty. Despite the hatred he had felt toward the blond, Harry recognized that Malfoy had been groomed from birth for his roll in this war, and it had not mattered what that he might had had a different dream. Perhaps, he thought sadly, Dumbledore had been right all along: Draco Malfoy _had_ been redeemable.

Harry was very pleased with his first class Monday morning, double Potions. Professor Prince presented himself as an expert brewer, a harsh taskmaster who was equally fair to all his students. He did not have the past associations that Severus Snape had, or the image to maintain among the Slytherins. It was an effort at times, Harry could see, not to snap at students or verbally flay them during the lesson, as the man would have before. Several female students seemed fascinated by the new professor, but Devon did not acknowledge them and kept himself aloof, much to Harry’s amusement. 

Word came late Tuesday that Arthur Weasley was under a form of the Imperius Curse, and Bill was at work, looking for the counter-curse. Kingsley believed that Bellatrix Lestrange had cursed him and her death might have triggered a reaction. There was no news on Percy’s status except that he continued to be uncooperative, and Harry could not help but wonder what Rufus Scrimgeour thought about his junior assistant now. It was hard not to be bitter at the pain the Weasleys’ third son had caused his family, especially his parents, over the past three years. Ron and Hermione Flooed to St. Mungo’s Wednesday afternoon to visit with his parents and bring Ginny back to Hogwarts. Ginny seemed particularly upset with Percy, and blamed him for soliciting the information from her father, which led to the attack in which she was injured. The entire situation saddened Harry, who was keenly aware that his friendship with the Weasleys had made them even bigger targets than they had been as supporters of Dumbledore and the Light.

Late Friday evening, Harry stood on the top of the Astronomy Tower, a fine, chilly mist covering him, complimenting his melancholy mood as he looked out over the Forbidden Forest. A plume of smoke swirled up from the chimney of Hagrid’s rebuilt hut, a flickering light showing that the half-giant was home. Harry had not seen the Care of Magical Creatures teacher since Dumbledore’s funeral in June, but Professor McGonagall had assured him that Hagrid was fine. A distant bark brought a smile to his face; it sounded like Fang was fine, too.

Harry closed his eyes, finally allowing his mind to replay the scene from June, the frantic flight from Hogsmeade and the terrifying sight of the Dark Mark bathing the school grounds in eerie green light. Opening his eyes, he drew in a deep breath, allowing the cold air to ground him. This was something he needed to do, something he owed to himself, Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape; he needed to put that night into perspective. Devon was supervising the first detention of the school year, and Ron and Hermione had Flooed to St. Mungo’s. Moving away from the parapet he was leaning against, Harry stepped back to the wall were he had stood, petrified under his invisibility cloak and gingerly unlocked the memory of that night, watching as if viewing a Pensieve. 

The darkness surrounded him, and Harry saw again the Headmaster's weakened state as he had clung to the rampart, talking calmly with Draco Malfoy. He tried to view the Slytherin’s actions with an unprejudiced mind, remembering the fine tremble in his wand that grew to a violent shaking, the bravado that hid his fear. If the Death Eaters had not arrived when they did, Harry was now sure that Malfoy would have lowered his wand. Snape’s arrival jolted him, eliciting a rush of remembered hatred before he could control it. The look on the Potions master’s face did not waver, but the dark eyes did, and with his newly acquired knowledge, Harry could see the horror and momentary panic when Severus realized the time had arrived. Snape's face convulsed with self-hatred as the Headmaster softly pleaded with him, reminding him of the Vow. The revulsion Harry had seen that night now made sense, and the hatred that twisted the gaunt face as Severus raised his wand tore at his heart.

Harry sank to his knees, ending the memory before the Killing Curse was cast. Up until now, he had not truly understood how the Severus Snape he had come to know could have killed the person he loved so much. He had never been able to envision a situation in which he would willingly kill Ron or Hermione, could not understand how desperate love could make one feel. In a blinding flash of understanding, Harry realized that he could and would kill either of his best friends if they were in agony and there was no hope: he would rather end their torment than allow them to suffer further. He understood that he loved them, and Severus, enough to kill them if he had to.

A presence moved through the wards he had set on the Tower, but Harry did not move, vaguely aware that hot tears streamed down his chilled face. Only one person could have made it through the magical barriers, the one person who Harry trusted with his very life. Anguish rolled over him – how could he have been so insensitive as to draw his mate back to a place that held such devastating memories for him.

“Harry?” 

The soft voice accompanied an equally soft touch on his shoulder, the warmth of Devon Prince’s hand spreading from the point of contact. Harry opened his eyes slowly, and looked up at him, silhouetted against a star-lit patch of sky.

“I’m sorry… you shouldn’t have to come up here.” Harry took a deep breath. “I was just trying to…”

“To reconcile all your memories with the roles we played that night to what we have become.”

“Yes,” Harry answered softly, “I assume you have already done that.”

The warm hand tugged him to his feet, and Devon muttered drying and warming charms on him before wrapping Harry in his arms. Knowing they were safe from prying eyes, he buried his face in his soul-mate’s throat. It took him only a moment to feel the fine tremble in Devon’s body, to realize that this was the older man’s first trip back to the Tower as well. He tightened his hold around Devon’s waist.

“Go ahead, love, I have you,” Harry whispered as he felt the first wave of sorrow radiate through the bond.

Harry did not know how long they stood there in the dark, misty night while Devon mourned. He could only hold him in a tight embrace. With the exception of a low, keening sound, his mate relived that night's events in silence, shuddering occasionally with what Harry suspected were sobs. A small smile quirked one corner of Harry’s mouth as he thought back to that first sight of Severus Snape after last term. He knew that Devon Prince had managed to soften that brittle exterior enough to allow the man to grieve, a vast difference from the devastated wizard who had sat, wandless, waiting for Harry to kill him. 

“Come,” Devon said finally, stepping back as he wiped surreptitiously at his face, “you will catch your death of cold.”

Harry reluctantly let go and removed his wards with a wave of his hand. Although exhausted, he felt like a weight had been removed from his shoulders. He had needed to purge the old hatred of Severus Snape that still existed in him, despite the deep love he had for the man he knew now. It felt like a cleansing of his soul, and Harry looked back as he reached the doorway. He would have sworn he saw Albus Dumbledore’s face in the starlight, the clear blue eyes twinkling at them both.

They had made love that night slowly, intensely, opening barriers until Harry did not know where he ended and Devon began. His sleep was the most restful he had managed in the days since the attack, and Harry woke only once around midnight to pad silently to the loo. As he slid back into the warm bedding, his mate pulled him close and curled around him, muttering something undoubtedly snide in his sleep, and the teenager smiled as he slid back into slumber.

A sharp, searing pain split his forehead, and Harry buried his head in his pillow as he groaned. A similar grunt of pain from Devon had him turning his head, a wave of apprehension washing over him. The golden eyes met his as the older man grasped his forearm in the pre-dawn light. 

“Only an unexpectedly powerful summons would cause pain.” The older man acknowledged Harry's unspoken question. “The Mark had not been painful since your raw magic mitigated the connection.” 

Harry swallowed as he sat up and slipped on his glasses. “I don’t like this…”

Devon was already on his feet, pulling on his clothing, but turned to meet Harry’s worried eyes. “I am somewhat concerned as well, but I can hardly ignore the summons.”

“I know.” Harry pulled on pants and jeans as well, knowing he would never get back to sleep now. “Just promise me you will be careful?”

Devon Prince cupped his chin and kissed him hard. “I will endeavor to avoid the Dark Lord’s wrath.”

Harry kissed him back with all the love he could pour into it. “I’ll hold you to that.”

And Devon was gone.

* * *


	38. Summoned

* * *

The hours dragged slowly from the moment Devon left Hogwarts, and Harry could not seem to settle at any task. He Flooed up to the rooms he was supposed to share with Ron and Hermione so that they could all go down to breakfast together. The witch eyed him sharply from the couch as he stumbled out of the fireplace, before tugging a pink jumper over her head.

“He was summoned before dawn,” Harry said as he slumped down next to her.

Hermione wrapped an arm around him and pulled him against her, planting a kiss on his forehead. He turned his face into her neck, accepting the comfort she offered. The worry over Severus being discovered as a spy ate at him. Harry knew this was the first time most of the other Death Eaters would be seeing the form he had taken in order to return to Hogwarts. Bellatrix Lestrange had tried to kill Devon Prince mere days ago, and they had to assume she knew who he really was from the time she had infiltrated the Order of the Phoenix. She had her own reasons to hate the Potions master, but Harry still worried that she had been under orders from Voldemort.

“Oi, mate! That’s my girlfriend you’re nuzzling!” Ron’s voice called cheerfully from across the room.

“I noticed the breasts, Ron,” Harry quipped, his nose still buried in the soft skin, earning himself an affectionate smack to the side of his head.

The Head Girl herded them down to the Great Hall for some breakfast, and Harry slid into a seat at the Gryffindor table between Ginny and Hermione. Accepting a plate, Harry nibbled on a piece of toast, pushing the scrambled eggs around the plate until Ginny stopped his hand with a nudge and a sharp look. With a sheepish grin, he sat up straighter and sipped his pumpkin juice, nodding at the students who made eye contact with him. The bond between him and his soul-mate remained quiet, a steady warmth reassuring him that the older man was at that point still fine.

“Harry?” 

Plastering a smile on his face, Harry glanced up when Hermione's voice penetrated his fog. Ron rolled his eyes from across the table and pushed his empty plate away. His girlfriend sighed, her eyes betraying her own worry, and brushed the fringe out of Harry's eyes.

“Come on, let’s get those two homework essays done this morning,” she said quietly, leaving unspoken the task of the Parseltongue parchments they needed to translate that afternoon.

A trip to the dungeons to pick up his school bag and a research session in the library kept Harry’s mind directed at the tasks Hermione had set for them. The three of them eventually moved back into the Heads' rooms, and he spread his work out on the table in front of the fireplace. A niggle of something came through the bond at one point mid-morning, but it was gone before Harry could analyze what might have been bothering Devon. When he looked up from putting the final sentence on his Charms essay, Harry was surprised to find that it was lunchtime, and Dobby had popped in silently to leave a tray of chicken sandwiches and tea in the small kitchen area.

Getting to his feet, Harry stretched his back and rolled his shoulders. Hermione had disappeared into her room, and Ron was dozing over his Transfiguration essay at the desk by the window. A rumbling from his stomach reminded Harry how little he had consumed for breakfast, and he moved to the table. Pouring himself some juice, Harry bit absently into a sandwich as he watch snow falling outside the window. The dark, gray skies reflected the mood he was feeling. The roles they were all supposed to play in the war against Voldemort were clearly defined; he accepted that, but it did not mean that he did not occasionally resent them.

hpsshpsshpsshpss

Severus Snape still wore the face of his alter ego, Devon Prince, but in this abhorrent gathering, he was every inch the elite Potions master, the only one trusted by the Dark Lord. The imbecile who touted himself the best on the Continent had not lived up to his boasts, and now lay in a fetal position in the dungeons of the Malfoy Manor suffering the after-effect of the Cruciatus Curse. Devon moved fluidly among the bubbling cauldrons, ignoring the cowering Peter Pettigrew, who hovered just out of sight in the doorway. The Dark Lord may have instructed the rat to help him, but Severus had ordered the Animagus away from the delicate potions he needed to brew. 

The instructions for each of the potions were clear and concise, the ingredients provided to him in well-organized and labeled vials. Even the notes on the preparation and stirring methods were exact and correct, which made him question what had gone wrong. Nowhere did it say what the potion was, by either name or functionality, but Severus was certain it had to do with the Horcruxes. One vial, nestled in a bed of soft cotton, stood upright; he had no doubt that it contained unicorn blood, and he quickly repressed the revulsion he felt, hoping Harry did not notice the strong feeling. 

Moving methodically, he reached for the next ingredient, which was sitting in a shallow bowl. The substance appeared to be Murtlap tentacles in their raw form, but the color was off from the true shade of yellow they should be. He leaned closer to the bowl, waving a hand over it to bring a bit of the scent wafting toward him, cocking his head as he let the biting aroma linger in his nose.

“Severus, is there a problem?” The voice behind him made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“This Murtlap, my lord.” He bowed deeply as he turned, using the time to reinforce his Occlumency shields. “It appears to have either been contaminated or is of an inferior quality than I am accustomed to using.”

Scarlet eyes swept over his face in a lazy motion, then white, skeletal fingers took the bowl from Severus’ hand so the Dark Lord could examine the contents himself. Voldemort gave it a cursory glance before looking back up at the Potions master as the bowl vanished with a quiet _pop_.

“Wormtail!” The Dark Lord kept his eyes trained on Severus as the simpering rodent scampered to his side. “Get Severus more Murtlap from the stores. Is that the only ingredient that has been tampered with, Severus?”

Inclining his head, Severus kept his face carefully schooled as Pettigrew left the lab. “It is the only one I have discovered, my lord. The others appear to be of the highest quality.”

“Very good, then. I will leave you to complete your brewing.”

Lord Voldemort swept out of the room as Severus executed another short bow, wondering if he had just passed some kind of test. The Murtlap would have worked in the complex potion he was brewing, but would have made it less potent than fresh ingredients would, if he read the properties of the mixture correctly. He experienced a sinking feeling though, at the thought of what the properly brewed potion would be used for, as well as the increasing paranoia of the evil bastard. Severus had already seen evidence of random torture and wanton sex among the Death Eaters. Those who were most trusted were expected to curse newer recruits for the smallest infractions, and Voldemort himself participated in the loathsome displays.

With a barely repressed shudder, Severus took the fresh Murtlap Peter Pettigrew returned with and moved back to the worktable. His eyes automatically checked each of the simmering cauldrons as the diminutive wizard moved back into the corner where he could watch the Potions master’s every move. Severus concentrated on swiftly slicing into the yellow tentacle, knowing that he could not rush the brewing, no matter how much he wanted to return to his mate. It was going to be a long day.

hpsshpsshpsshpss

The desk in Devon’s chambers was piled high with the ancient parchments written by Salazar Slytherin, charms to protect and preserve them firmly in place. Harry moved to sit in the straight-backed chair, carefully levitating one of the pieces of parchment to the center of the desk. Using the very tip of his finger as a guide, Harry began reading and was soon immersed in the diary. A smile twitched the corners of his mouth for the first time that day as he read about the pride the Hogwarts founder felt in his eldest son, the love evident in his concern for the young man. Slytherin’s diary, like the parchments they had already translated, described the method for reuniting the fragments of a shattered soul. The founder believed this was the only way to save his eldest, who had returned from a magical war whole in body but crippled in mind. 

Harry scowled at a tiny ink mark placed to indicate the part in the diary that gave the specific words of the incantation to reunite pieces of one soul. He knew only Tom Riddle could have befouled the diary and the journal with marks and notes, perverting the incantations in order to rip his soul in pieces in a bid for immortality. Riddle had been the first person to open the Chamber of Secrets after Salazar Slytherin had left Hogwarts. Even the founder's reason for leaving, the infamous feud with Godric Gryffindor, had been twisted through the ages. It was true that Slytherin thought only those children familiar with wizard culture and magical traditions should be allowed to study at Hogwarts, but he had also proposed options for educating Muggleborn children on those topics before their eleventh birthdays. Gryffindor had disagreed about the significance of doing so, arguing that children were assimilated into the culture by virtue of being exposed once they arrived at Hogwarts. Neither of the two stubborn wizards would give an inch in their beliefs, and the disagreement had grown into a feud. Remembering how lost he felt during his first year, Harry wished he had known something about the world and culture he was entering; it would have made the transition much easier.

“Harry?”

Harry looked up to see Hermione stepping out of the fireplace. She and Ron had Flooed to St. Mungo’s to see if there was any improvement in Mr. Weasley’s condition. Ron followed on her heels, a grin lighting his face. A real smile erupted at the sight, and Harry carefully put the parchment away, moving into the sitting room, where the pair stood brushing soot from their clothing.

“What’s happened?” Harry asked.

“Bill found the curse that was used on Dad,” Ron told him excitedly, “and he will be able to remove it with a series of counter-curses!”

“He already performed the first two, and Mr. Weasley actually woke up for a minute and recognized him,” Hermione added as she reached out to hug Harry.

“Brilliant!” Harry could not believe the intensity of the relief that flooded him as Ron wrapped his arms around the both of them. “I am so glad to hear that, mate!”

Ron stepped out of the embrace and plopped down on the couch. “Yeah, it was a bit of alright. Now, if they had been able to do something with Percy, it would have been grand.”

Harry glanced at Hermione, taking in the shadows in her eyes as she stepped back. “What happened with Percy?”

“Nothing!” Ron groused. “That’s the problem.”

Hermione joined her fiancé, leaning against him as Ron wrapped his arms around her. “The Aurors could find no evidence that Percy had done anything wrong. They did a Prior Incantanto on his wand, and only found a healing spell—”

“But he would not let them go back passed the last spell he’d cast!” Ron complained.

Hermione sighed. “Which is his right, Ronald. Kingsley explained that to you.”

“I know, but I don’t have to like it.”

Looking at Harry again, Hermione continued, her face grim. “Percy submitted to Veritaserum, as well as several spells used to detect Dark magic, and he passed all the tests. Minister Scrimgeour ordered his release, as the Aurors could not charge him with anything. Percy did admit that he was arguing with Mr. Weasley at the time the seizure started, though.”

“Bloody hell,” Harry breathed, as upset with the outcome as Ron. “So who is it that cursed Mr. Weasley, then?”

“I still think it was Percy!” Ron interjected angrily. “There are ways around Veritaserum and ways to mask Dark spells, and Death Eaters would know those things.”

Harry had to agree with Ron. He moved to sit in Devon’s chair, swallowing the suggestion that came to mind about asking Ron's dad if he woke up. _When he woke up,_ Harry corrected himself immediately. Grasping for a diversion, he called Dobby to ask for a tea tray. After a round of enthusiastic hugs, the diminutive creature disappeared with a _pop_ , reappearing barely a minute later with a laden tray of goodies. Hermione poured their tea, giving Ron time to rein in his temper and Harry to give into his concern. Closing his eyes, he sent a tiny tendril through the bond he shared with his mate, tinged with his concern that Devon had been gone for so many hours. The answering tendril had a bit of snarl to it, and Harry got the vague impression of Wormtail trying to assist Devon in brewing potions.

Slowly, Harry became aware of the external world again. He was embarrassed to find himself under scrutiny by the soft brown eyes of his best friend. Smiling sheepishly, he sent her a smile, warmed by her concern for Devon. Ron blew across his hot tea, his eyes unfocused as they stared into the fire. The momentary warmth he had felt evaporated at the worry Harry could see on his friend’s freckled face.

“Dumbledore was just the beginning, really, wasn’t he, Harry?” Ron asked, his eyes still trained on the flames flickering in the fireplace. 

“Yeah, I think so, mate,” Harry answered him honestly, his own eyes dropping to the teacup cradled in his hands. “I keep hoping that I can kill him before anyone else gets hurt or dies, but no matter how fast I learn, it is just not enough…” Harry’s voice faded as he stared unseeingly into the dark liquid.

“Harry,” Hermione said, leaning forward to put her hand on his knee, “you cannot blame yourself for the actions of a madman! We can only do so much; you have to be prepared before you face him, or you will die and Voldemort will simply resurrect himself again!”

Harry closed his eyes tightly, wondering how they had fallen into this conversation. “Since learning of the prophecy, I have not expected to live past that confrontation, Hermione, but I don’t plan to die without taking the bastard with me.”

“Harry!”

“He’s right, love,” Ron whispered, and Harry opened his eyes to look at the pale teenager. “We all have to accept that we or the ones we love might die in this battle, or our commitment will be meaningless. I realized this while we were at St. Mungo’s after Dad was brought in.” He looked at Harry although his words were directed at his fiancée. “We almost died this summer at your parents’ house, and Tonks just lost her mum, because we are all targets. Anyone who does not believe the vile filth that Voldemort spews, or who does not fit into his ‘pure-blood’ world, like Harry, Devon, you, and half of the people we know, would be killed simply because their blood is not pure. Yet this bastard surrounds himself with every monstrous creature he can, and he will stop at nothing to get the power he craves.”

“And we can’t fight him on his level,” Hermione said, nodding her head as she took up the train of thought, “but we fight with love on our side, Harry. Love of home, love of family, love of life, love is what will get us through this.”

Harry felt compelled to look into the warm brown eyes, lit from inside by the love his friend was feeling, reminding him that he was far from alone in this war. 

“You owe it to your mum and dad, to Dumbledore, to S—Severus, and to yourself, Harry, to plan on living beyond doing what you are destined for. If you give in to the belief that you will die too, then you have nothing left to fight for.”

He examined the beautiful face, wondering how Hermione understood so clearly what he was feeling, until he realized that she felt as he did about their chances of surviving, and then he smiled. Yes, he owed it to them as well as himself to believe that he had a chance at a future. He took a deep breath.

“All right, I promise to fight with the hope that we will all grow old enough to listen to you nag someone else to do their Charms homework.”

Hermione beamed, and even Ron smiled at him through the pain in his eyes, and Harry felt content for the first time since Devon was summoned. To think of the future was almost too painful for Harry, as it allowed him to anticipate life beyond Voldemort, something he had not allowed himself to do since learning the Prophecy at the end of his fifth year, but he also knew his friends were right: he had to have hope.

hpsshpsshpsshpss

Images slammed into Harry, who, unwilling to brave the bed without his mate, he dozed on the couch. The familiar view through the Dark Lord's eyes warred with the excruciating pain that flashed over him from the bond. Trying to Occlude against the pain, Harry concentrated on the insane anger that gripped Voldemort as he cursed the prone figure of Devon Prince. The Potions master had made the mistake of bringing his own wand instead of that of Albus Dumbledore, which greatly displeased the evil wizard. The anger was so intense that Harry could not read any other thoughts or emotions. Pushing a wave of calm as forcefully as he dared through the link to Devon, Harry backed out and resurrected his shields. 

Sitting up, Harry rubbed his face with both hands as he fought to manage the pain flooding through the bond with Devon. Abruptly, the pain stopped, and Harry drew a deep breath, filling his lungs before slowly exhaling in a long steady breath. Throwing the blanket off, he quickly dressed in jeans and a jumper, pulling a warm jacket from the wardrobe. Gathering the things he thought he might need, Harry paused only long enough to drink a small vials of the potion Devon had created to off-set the effects of his visions. His invisibility cloak covered him completely as Harry slipped out the door to the cool dungeon corridor, and he ran silently up through the Entrance Hall 

The great oak doors parted silently as Harry as approached, and he slipped between them. His mind grappled with the idea of a leader who gained followers with promises of incredible power and wealth, but tortured his faithful at will, a leader who branded his loyal supporters with a Mark that caused pain to summon them, whose main focus was to destroy a segment of the population. He shuddered to think of the promises Voldemort had made to the likes of Fenrir Greyback or the giants to induce them to join the side of Dark in this current struggle. It seemed that one sold one's very soul to the wizard with a pledge to Voldemort, and Harry did not want to think about Percy Weasley or anyone else he knew straying down that path. 

The bond between them pulled Harry toward the Forbidden Forest instead of the Apparation point, and he followed it. It would be just like the bastard to send his Potions master back, unconscious, into the center of the Forest. Grimly, he ran as silently as possible, his trainers sliding on the icy crust over the snow. Eventually he slowed, making his way at a more sedate pace through the trees. His senses alert for the creatures that lived in the Forest, Harry grimly recognized the area he was moving into. A prone figure lay slumped on the ground outside the entrance to the lair of the acromantulas, and Harry could see movement in the dark.

A frisson of fear ran down his spine, and Harry dropped lower to the ground, moving with extreme care. There were other eyes watching his mate, he could feel them, Harry just did not know whether they were human. Slipping his hand in his pocket, Harry carefully felt for the oddly shaped bottle that he had gotten from the Weasley twins. The Instant Darkness Powder had been removed from the shelves after the fiasco last June, when Draco Malfoy had so successfully employed the product to allow Death Eaters entry into Hogwarts. He stepped over Devon, reassured by the steady rise and fall of the older man’s chest, and threw the powder in an arc that obscured three of the four sides of the small clearing.

Quickly levitating the unconscious man, Harry covered them as best as he could with the invisibility cloak and moved backwards. The rock outcropping that hid the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets opened silently at his quiet hiss, and Harry moved without hesitation in the inky darkness. The rock slid back into place and Harry resecured the wards, then he lit his wand tip and sprinted toward the main chamber, Devon floating behind him. As he made his way through the outer doors and into Slytherin’s inner rooms, Harry grew more and more concerned about his mate’s continued unconscious state. 

The fire blazed at his whispered command, and a wave of his hand transfigured one of the chairs into a duplicate of their bed. Gently settling Devon on top of the bedding, Harry brushed his fingertips across the swelling bruise on one high cheekbone, carefully moving a greasy strand of hair off the older man’s face. The state of Devon’s hair told Harry that he had spent the day brewing, which reminded him of the potions he carried in his pocket. Using the ambient magic in the Chamber, Harry propped Devon at an angle where he could pour each of the potions into his mouth, urging the man to swallow by stroking his fingertips down the pale, slender column of his throat. Pain reliever, post-Cruciatus potion, and a general healing potion were all he dared give Devon until the older wizard regained consciousness. The even rise and fall of Devon’s chest reassured Harry that he was going to be all right, and for the first time since dawn, Harry relaxed.

The fire warmed the room quickly, and Harry busied himself with cleaning the blood and vomit off Devon, casting cleaning charms on his clothes and person. After Transfiguring his robes into the softest cotton, Harry tucked Devon into the bed, then disrobed and joined his mate. Only a few minutes later the older man finally stirred.

“Harry?” 

His name came out as a groaned whisper. Harry instantly sat up, conjuring a goblet of cool water. Cupping a hand around Devon's neck to support his head, Harry allowed him to take several small sips before sliding back down to cradle him in his arms. 

“I was worried. I think someone was sent to see how you made it back into the castle.”

“I will be fine, Harry, as I was only subjected to one extended curse. Seems the Dark Lord was displeased that I did not have Albus’ wand with me.”

The fine tremors in the lean form were receding, and Harry sighed with relief.

“We can stay here until you’re ready to move, love,” Harry assured Devon as his fingers slid through the now silky hair. “Why was the bastard so angry about the wand?”

“It is as we suspected. He is ready to make another Horcrux and wants to use the wand as the vessel.” Devon’s arms wound around Harry, who frowned.

“Why now?”

“The Dark Lord grows tired of your resistance, apparently, He wants me to bring you to him on the Winter Solstice. He wants to kill you once and for all, using your death to create his last Horcrux, and allowing him to take over the Ministry of Magic without opposition.”

“Bloody hell!”


	39. New Worries

* * *

Harry and Devon spent the night in the Chamber, comforting each other's worries about the new threat. Voldemort wanted Devon to bring Harry to him in three months time, and neither of them knew if he would be ready for that. Even though he could feel the incredible magical power running just under his skin, Harry knew he need more that just raw strength to defeat the evil wizard. Could they complete the training necessary in that amount of time? 

The Chamber itself seemed to be the ideal place to train: no one else could see them, and the expended magical power would simply soak back into the bedrock. It concerned Harry that he would get used to the pure, raw strength of his magic here, though, and might come to expect it to be the same elsewhere. It was something Harry had to keep in the forefront of his mind, he was afraid, as overconfidence could be fatal. Tom Riddle had to have experienced the intoxicating feeling of power the Chamber gave one, which would explain why he had left a Horcrux hidden in the inner room.

After delivering his news the night before, Devon had lapsed into sleep, disturbed by occasional violent shudders, and Harry dozed as he cradled the older man to his chest. A Patronus message to the Headmistress had explained their location and the Potions master’s condition. Harry did not want to cause undue worry, but nor did he want to leave until his mate could walk out on his own. Devon’s pronouncement of a new, accelerated timeline kept running through Harry’s mind as he lay there holding the battered man close, not allowing the panic he felt at the periphery of his mind to overwhelm him. The warmth and comfort of the inner chamber seemed to embrace them, and Harry finally fell into an exhausted sleep near dawn, as the post-Cruciatus tremors finally left Devon.

A gentle hand carding through his hair woke him, and Harry leaned into the caress, loving the feel of those slender fingers. Somehow, during their sleep, the two had changed positions, and Harry was in his customary place with his head on his mate’s chest. The steady beat of the older man’s heart was sweet music to his ears, and Harry turned his head to press a kiss on the warm skin over the pumping organ. The hand in his hair gripped the back of his head and tugged it upward. Harry happily complied, crawling carefully forward to kiss the thin lips. 

“How do you feel?”

“Better, I believe.” Those lips curled at the corners as Harry was tugged down for another kiss.

The voice was still huskier than normal, and Harry winced at the thought of Devon screaming himself hoarse while he had been held under the Cruciatus Curse. Pushing up carefully to his hands and knees, Harry gingerly brushed the hair out of Devon’s face, searching it for bruises before he began a visible inspection of his mate’s body. The scowl on the softer face of Devon Prince had little affect on Harry as he summoned the jar of healing ointment from his supplies, and began to silently tend to the older man’s contusions. Despite the grumblings, Devon held still, allowing Harry to rub the cream over the worst of his injuries before gently sending him off to fetch some of the supplies they had stocked in the small kitchen area before the term started.

Rummaging around in the keep-fresh cabinet, Harry found some bread and a flask of pumpkin juice. He was pleased when Devon was able to eat the buttered toast Harry had made for him. Restless, Harry moved around the small area, straightening up, casting cleaning spells on Devon’s clothing and refolding it. He went into the bathroom and cleaned up. When he came back, Devon was drinking the last of his juice, and Harry moved to pick up the empty cup. If he kept busy, then he would not have time to think, Harry reasoned, missing the soft sigh from his mate. A hand grabbed his wrist and tugged him up on the bed.

“Harry, stop.” The golden eyes bored into his. "If we are not prepared when the deadline arrives, then we do not go. It is a simple decision to make, and one we will both have a voice in. The more positive aspect of this is the fact that I do not believe I will be summoned in the meantime, as the Dark Lord ‘reminded’ me how serious is this mission. I am to concentrate on seducing you and making you trust me implicitly.”

Nodding, Harry still felt somewhat off balance as he held Devon’s eyes. “It’s just that I thought we would have until June, like every other year he has tried to get to me. I guess shortening the time has thrown me a bit.”

Harry looked down at his hands, somewhat surprised to find them clasped tightly in his lap. Despite his assurances to Ron and Hermione, Harry did fear that the death of the Dark wizard would equate to his own, especially as he became more and more convinced that he was tied to the bastard by a slice of soul lodged in his scar. His own demise did not frighten him, really, but the thought that his mate would die with him terrified him.

“Harry.” 

Lifting his head slowly, Harry met the intense eyes, unsurprised to find the obsidian eyes that he loved so much boring into him. 

“You promised me the night you turned seventeen that you would not attempt to hide anything from me, and I vowed the same to you,” Devon’s rich voice held a trace of hurt, and Harry’s stomach clenched. 

Harry filled his lungs with air, then slowly let it out. “I think we will need to cast the reunification spell just before we cast the Killing Curse.”

The golden eyes searched his face silently as he delivered the quiet words, and Harry felt compelled to finish his speech.

“That way, if this is a piece of his soul, it will be out of me when we cast the spell to kill him.”

“On the off-chance you are correct, Harry, the abrupt removal of something that has entwined itself into your very being could incapacitate you.”

Harry’s chin came up as his worst fear was verbalized. “Then I can only hope that you will have time to complete the curse before you, too, are incapacitated.”

Knowing he had just gotten to the root of the problem, Devon tugged his young bond-mate closer. A wave of his hand banished the tray and he sighed as Harry stretched out at his side, head on his chest. His right hand slid with into the soft mop of hair and stroked gently through it in a manner that Devon knew would comfort the younger man.

“We have discussed this before, love, and I thought we both agreed that you were not a Horcrux—” he put a finger over the lips that parted to protest “—but that does not exclude the possibility that a sliver of the soul that was already prepared to make another Horcrux did not embed itself in your scar. That being the case, it may be mildly uncomfortable when it is forcibly removed, but I do not believe that it will incapacitate you.”

Harry made a noise of protest, and suddenly Devon saw with a startling clarity what his lover had been attempting to quietly orchestrate. A purely Snape-like rage flashed through him at the irresponsible plan, while another part of him recognized the depth of love that it took to plot such an endeavor. 

“You were looking for the spell to cast that would turn a vessel into a Horcrux, weren’t you?” Devon snarled hoarsely, his hand gripping the back of Harry’s head, forcing him to meet his eyes. “You planned to try to remove the piece of soul by yourself without telling me!”

The flash of guilt on Harry’s face was enough to convince him, and Devon had the teenager on his back, underneath him in a heartbeat. A tremor of fear ran through Harry and their bond, and Devon took a deep breath, his body protesting the abrupt movements. Knowing that the harsh words that were fighting to erupt from the sharp edge of his tongue would hurt them both, he concentrated and purposely lowered the mental barrier between them. Foremost in his mind was his cutting opinion of Harry’s self-sacrificing Gryffindor tendencies, followed quickly by concern over the damage Harry could do casting such a spell on himself without assistance. Underlying it all was the fear that he, Severus Snape, felt for the man he loved, and the hurt he felt that Harry had not shared his concern with Severus.

Conflicted feelings swamped his awareness as Harry let loose his control on his thoughts and emotions: the fears he had for Severus; the protectiveness that had caused him to hide what Harry felt was another of his problems to inflict on his mate; the fear that the removal of the piece of soul would kill them both; the child-like fear that Severus would stop loving him, and ultimately leave him like so many other loved ones had. 

Severus could only wrap himself around the trembling teenager, mentally and physically, and counter each point with his own fear that neither of them would survive the final confrontation with the Dark Lord, as well as his fervent hope that they would. Severus’ hopes and dreams of love, home, and family were laid bare, and Harry reciprocated with hopes that were almost identical, and they wove them together to form a vision of their future. They hashed out the hurt and made plans to remedy the situation together, when the time proved right to do so, reaffirming their commitment. After one final mental shake, the barrier was put back into place, and they both fell into a deep sleep.

hpsshpsshpsshpss

It was late afternoon before the couple made their way through the hidden dungeon door and back into their rooms. They barely had time to shower and dress before Poppy Pomfrey descended on them. Muttering under her breath the entire time, she grudgingly found that Devon was fit to return to teaching in the morning. As the mediwitch launched into a lecture on the cumulative effects of the Dark curses he had suffered, Fawkes appeared in the middle of the room in a burst of flame, bearing a summons from the Headmistress. Shouldering into his robes and pinning the Head Boy badge to his chest, Harry flashed a blinding smile at the mediwitch, and Devon resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

They stepped from the fireplace in McGonagall’s office five minutes later to find Ron, Hermione, and Kingsley Shacklebolt already seated at the small conference table in front of the large desk. Hermione was across the room in an instant, throwing her arms around him in a surprisingly gentle hug. Devon felt perplexed as he awkwardly patted the young lady’s shoulder, amazed at how far they had all progressed in the past few months. Kingsley Shacklebolt watched the interchange with interest, and Devon held his gaze steadily.

“Thank goodness you’re all right, Devon,” Hermione told him as she stepped back. “We were beginning to worry.”

Devon shot a glance at Minerva McGonagall, a frown creasing his brow. He knew Kingsley Shacklebolt was a trusted member of the Order of the Phoenix, but he was also a well-respected Auror, one who had been personally appointed by the Minister of Magic to work with the Muggle Prime Minister before volunteering to lead Hogwart’s protection unit. His bond-mate had stopped suddenly as he caught sight of the black wizard, and stiffened at Hermione’s welcome. Devon could see Ron Weasley shift uncomfortably in his chair.

“Professor McGonagall?” Harry asked in a low voice.

“Harry, I’d like you and Devon to sit down, please, and then I will explain.”

The Headmistress’ voice was stern, the tone all too familiar to any of her former students, and Devon immediately obeyed, moving to sit opposite the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Harry slid into the chair at his side. Hermione settled into the chair between him and Ron. 

“When you exited the castle last night, Harry, you triggered the wards in the Aurors chambers, and Kingsley came to notify me,” Professor McGonagall told him.

“But, I have—”

“Yes, you do have permission to come and go as you please, and the squad knows this,” Shacklebolt interjected, “but you headed straight into the Forbidden Forest, which concerned us, and you were not alone.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed, and Devon could feel tension in the teen. “What do you mean I wasn’t alone?”

“The wards indicated someone in Animagus form breached the wards near the edge of the Forbidden Forest about the same time you left the grounds, and we were concerned that you would be in danger. I alerted Minerva as the squad mobilized to follow you into the Forest, but she would not let us go until Ron and Hermione brought the Marauder's Map up.”

Devon’s stomach suddenly lodged in his throat when he realized what name had appeared on the map. His own face a neutral mask, Devon watched as Harry continued to answer for both of them. Sitting stiffly in his chair, Harry kept his gaze on the Auror.

“Did you see who the Animagus was?” he asked quietly.

“Peter Pettigrew, but he was actually running away from the area by the time we saw him on the map. There was an additional flag nearby as well, but it was gone before the two of you disappeared.”

The chocolate eyes seemed to pin Harry to his chair, and he shifted slightly under the scrutiny. Straightening his shoulders, his arm brushing against Devon’s as he did, Harry returned the gaze without flinching.

“And you are curious about Devon’s flag or about where we disappeared to?” Harry shot back, an edge to his tone.

The dark head nodded. "Both."

Ron and Hermione glanced toward Devon, and Harry knew without question that they both had their wands in hand, ready to protect the older man. Slipping his left hand over, Harry laid it on Devon’s thigh as he felt him shift, giving it a quick squeeze before moving it back to where his wand was.

“The Map is never wrong, Professor Shacklebolt,” Harry assured him quietly, allowing his anxiety to come through, “and I believe you must have some respect for Severus Snape to be sitting here, alone, with him.”

“I know that you would never consent to being in the same room with the man who murdered Albus Dumbledore if you did not have knowledge that exonerated him. I am willing to keep an open mind while you tell me who convinced you that Snape was not culpable and what proof you have in his defense,” Kingsley answered, his eyes darting to the Polyjuiced man’s face and back to Harry’s.

“Actually, Kingsley,” the portrait of Albus Dumbledore spoke up, "I am the one who convinced Harry of Severus’ true motives and directions in the matter of my death. I also left a will that detailed the Unbreakable Vow Severus swore to me, and my Pensieve contains additional information, all of which clears Severus of any charges, I believe.”

Kingsley nodded at the portrait’s words, acknowledging them. “Is that why you asked me last spring to exercise caution in the event anything happened to you, Albus?”

“Yes, Severus and I made our plans before the term started last fall, knowing I was slowly dying. I mentioned that to you in the spring because I felt the circumstances could present themselves at anytime, and wanted to prepare some avenue to ensure Severus’ safety.”

“I can understand the need for secrecy.” A smile finally split the dark man’s face, and he slowly reached his hand across the table toward the Potions master. “I am very glad to know you are still one of us, Severus.”

A sigh escaped Harry as he watched the two men shake hands. The inclusion of the Auror in their secret ensured a strong ally within the Ministry’s Magical Law Enforcement department. On the other hand, the more people who knew their secret, the more chance someone would slip and say something they shouldn’t. While Devon Prince still acted as a double agent, his life depended on those who knew he was actually Severus Snape; one slip of the tongue on either side could lead to his death. 

A hand covered his, and Harry looked up into concerned golden eyes. The fear he felt had filtered through their bond, and both turned to look at the tall Auror, who was still watching them curiously, his eyes resting on their joined hands. 

“Your discretion in this is essential, Shacklebolt,” Minerva McGonagall told him sternly. “Only those of us here, besides Poppy, know that _Devon_ is actually Severus Snape, although we believe Remus Lupin has guessed the truth.”

The witch’s emphasis on Devon’s name made Harry smile, once more glad that the fierce woman was on their side.

“My vow as a member of the Order of the Phoenix is as binding as an Unbreakable Vow, madam—,” Kingsley’s eyes narrowed but his deep voice remained even “—as well as my personal vow to both Harry and Severus to do all I can to help them defeat He Who Must Not Be Named.” 

Harry grinned in relief. When Devon inclined his head to acknowledge the vow, Ron and Hermione finally relaxed in their seats. The conversation turned to the newest deadline that the Potions master had been given by the Dark Lord, and how to prepare for it. None of them were worried about the security of the Chamber of Secrets, knowing that the warding had held once already against Voldemort, but the presence of someone in an unknown animal form did concern them. Additional protective fields could be put in place, ones especially targeted for magical creatures of any kind, including Animagi, and all of them agreed this needed to be a priority. 

“The Autumnal Equinox is in two weeks,” Hermione interjected. “Wouldn’t casting the wards at the apex of the Equinox make them even stronger?”

“That is an excellent suggestion, especially with Harry’s power,” the Headmistress agreed, shooting a look at the teenager. “If you agree, Harry, I think the wards would be impenetrable.”

“Of course, Professor,” Harry agreed, stifling a yawn. The events of the past two days were catching up with him.

With a nod of agreement, the Headmistress dismissed them. She continued to talk to Kingsley Shacklebolt. Ron and Hermione joined the Harry and Devon in the dungeons so that they could hear the whole story of what had happened when Devon was summoned. When Harry mentioned the Soul Reunification spell, Hermione cuffed him on the back of his head – on principal, she said, drawing a laugh out of the tired teen. His chest tightened once again with emotion, and he leaned against Devon as the conversation eddied around him. Harry was not surprised when Devon insisted they share a vial of Dreamless Sleep that night, and he settled into the warm embrace of his mate as sleep tugged at him.

hpsshpsshpsshpss

Devon floated on a soft, warm cloud. Soft fingers stroked his skin. The small amount of Dreamless Sleep Potion that he had taken tended to make him a bit fuzzy in the morning, and he groaned as he felt arousing sensations brush across his chest. The tip of a wet tongue traced the edge of his hipbone and across his abdomen, and his balls tightened in anticipation. Sure hands spread his legs wide, and that marvelous mouth closed over the tip of his cock. His limbs felt weighted and he was happy to give himself up to the familiar ministrations. There was a shift of weight, then a Devon felt his lover straddle him. A slick hand moved over his cock, guiding him. Devon arched up as he felt Harry slide down on him, leaning forward to take his lips in a searing kiss as he did so.

“I know you’re awake.” Harry’s voice was laced with amusement. He planted his hands on either side of Devon's head and began to rock.

Devon shifted his hands to grip the slender hips and thrust up hard, ignoring the twinge in his back muscles. “I thought it was a lovely dream.”

“Ahhh,” Harry moaned, “stop moving! I know you are still sore, so just let me do the work.”

Devon was happy to comply; eyes closed, he allowed Harry to move over him in a slow, steady rhythm that built until he could feel his impending orgasm. Dragging his teeth along Devon’s jaw, Harry shifted and changed his angle slightly, speeding up his movement. Devon gasp as the hands planted on his chest began to pinch and tug at his nipples, sending his body into sensory overload. Grasping Harry’s hips, Devon thrust up again, his eyes opening to see Harry’s head thrown back, a look of ecstasy on his face. He arched once, twice, before burying himself as deep as he could as Harry howled his own release, then slumped bonelessly onto his chest. He had just enough energy left to bring a hand up to stroke through Harry’s damp hair.

“Bloody brilliant,” Harry muttered with a sigh, sounding as if he intended to fall asleep draped over Devon.

“You can’t go back to sleep,” Devon told him with a smile. “It is almost time for breakfast.”

“Just for a minute…” came the sleepy response.

“ _Levicorpus._ ” 

In the blink of an eye, Harry was dangling from the ceiling by his ankle, and Devon could not contain his snort of amusement as he squealed in indignation. Moving carefully out of bed, mindful of still-sore muscles, Devon planted a kiss on a particularly delectable part of the young man’s anatomy. 

“Devon! Let me down!”

“ _Liberacorpus_ ,” he muttered with a smile, and Harry dropped back to the bed in an undignified heap. “Now, shall we get ready?”

They separated at the top of the stairs, Harry slipping in through the main doors and moving to sit in between Ron and Hermione. There was the swooping sound of the morning postal owls as Harry helped himself to a plate of eggs and bacon. A large gray barn owl settled gracefully on the table in front of Hermione.

“It’s Mercury, my dad’s new owl,” the witch explained as she took the envelope from the bird, giving it a piece of bacon for its troubles. 

The owl nudged his head against Hermione’s fingers before taking off again, flying around Nearly Headless Nick, who was hovering at the far end of the table. Harry watched as she opened the missive, handing a folded piece of parchment to Ron before she unfolded several sheets of light blue stationery. 

“Dad’s well enough to come home this afternoon!” Ron said excitedly as he read through his letter.

“Mum says that your mum is pleased, Ron, but worried that your dad still can’t remember anything.”

“Yeah, Mum thinks someone used a memory charm on him.” The red-head’s voice was low and dangerous. “I still think that Percy did something to Dad that day at the Ministry!”

Harry’s head swiveled back and forth as the two spoke; he concluded they had both received letters from their mothers. A feeling of relief swept through him as he heard that Arthur Weasley was well enough to be released from St. Mungo’s, even though he silently agreed with Ron’s suspicions. At least at Grimmauld Place, Mr. Weasley could rest, and maybe they could figure out what had happened to erase his memory. Also, it would remove him for any contact with Percy, Harry thought bitterly, stabbing at his eggs. 

“I can send Dobby over to make sure everything is ready for him,” he offered, knowing that the house elf was dividing his time between the Dumbledore House, Grimmauld Place, and Hogwarts.

Hermione shook her head, as she looked up with a smile. “He has already taken care of most of it, Harry, and I think between Mum and Mrs. Weasley, they can handle the rest.”

Gesturing with his fork, Harry pointed to the two of them. “Why don’t you Floo over this evening and make sure they have everything they need?”

“Oy, Harry!” Ginny Weasley’s voice cut into the conversation.

Looking around, Harry spotted her as she made her way down the Gryffindor table and plopped on to the bench opposite of the three friends. A tall, dark-skinned wizard stood at the end of the table, waiting until she was seated before moving to the Slytherin table. Hiding a grin, Harry arched an eyebrow at her, and Ginny just smiled smugly, turning her attention to her brother as he repeated the news about their father. 

“Wonderful!” Ginny exclaimed, helping herself to the eggs and toast. “I still think that prat Percy had something to do with what happened to Dad.”

Ron scowled darkly as he nodded his agreement, but refrained from saying anything. Hermione patted his arm and added another piece of toast to his plate as she reread her letter.

“I haven’t seen you since Friday, Harry. Is everything alright?”

“It is now, Gin,” Harry told her, vaguely waving his fork at his scar. “Just had a bit of a bad dream Friday night, you know.”

The flame-haired witch nodded, her eyes laced with concern as she studied his face. “And everything is okay with Professor Prince?”

Harry allowed a wide grin to split his face, hoping that it was besotted enough without being silly, and his cheeks heated as he thought of their morning loving. “Bloody brilliant, Ginny!”

“My goodness, Harry,” Ginny said, sounding suspiciously like her mother, “a blush like that makes me want to ask _how_ good things are!!”

Ron snorted into his pumpkin juice, and Hermione elbowed him hard. Harry could feel the weight of one particular set of eyes from the High Table, as well as the curiosity through their bond.

“Speaking of Prince,” Hermione rescued him, “how was your first double Potions class Friday?”

Ginny’s smile deepened. “Good, actually, although look at the two I had to compare him to! At least your Devon spends time describing how the potion should look at each phase, and gives us helpful suggestions on brewing that aren’t in the text book to make the potion better. He teaches a lot like whoever wrote the notes on that Advanced Potions book of yours from last year, Harry, although he does pinch the bridge of his nose a lot – like we are giving him a migraine!”

“You probably are,” Ron muttered good-naturedly, earning himself another elbow.

“Every once in a while, though,” Ginny said quietly pushing her empty plate away, “he says something or does something that reminds me of someone, but I just can’t figure out who. Something about his mannerisms seems really familiar,” her voice trailed off.

Harry felt a surge of panic, but Hermione diverted everyone’s attention by announcing that classes started in less then ten minutes. Grabbing his bag, Harry nodded absently at Sir Nicholas as he blindly followed his friends from the Great Hall, wondering how much danger Devon would be in if Ginny or someone else became suspicious. Grimly, he made his way toward the Charms classroom, his mind a maelstrom of worry.

* * *


	40. Threats

* * *

The Potions master had much on his mind, and could not quite forget it, even during class hours. The Dark Lord had been particularly brutal in his latest punishment. The increasing violence suggested that the madman's sanity, always questionable, was unbalanced. The thought once again crossed his mind that Severus Snape’s double-life might have been compromised. The worry filtering through his bond added to Devon's concerns. Distracted by his thoughts, Devon Prince slipped back into the teaching methods of eighteen years

“Please, Professor Prince, I can do it,” the Hufflepuff first-year for whom he was demonstrating the proper way to dice a Flobberworm whispered.

The tremulous voice broke through his musings, and Devon straightened. A glance down showed that he had diced almost the entire pile of worms, and the poor child was trembling. Taking a deep breath, Devon carefully set the knife on the wooden worktable. 

“Very well, Mr. McKinley, you may continue.” He awkwardly patted the child on the shoulder and moved away.

Deciding his desk would be the best place to hide while the class continued to prepare the simple potion he had assigned them, he retreated. The temptation to growl was strong, especially after Harry's warning about watching himself in the classroom. These first-years would never know the difference, but the last class of the day was Harry’s NEWT level class, where the students would immediately recognize the snarling demeanor that had emerged. 

A Ravenclaw spoke from her workstation. “Professor Prince? I don’t understand these instructions, sir.” 

Devon took another calming breath as he stood. Moving to see which passage was giving her trouble, he bent down rather that hover over the young witch. Briskly, the Potions master explained why the moonstone needed to be finely ground instead of coarsely ground, the difference it would make in the color and consistency, and how it would affect the potion’s properties. By the time his explanation was completed, the entire class of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws was hanging on his every word, and Devon had to remind them to start brewing. The reward for his patience was readily apparent, however, when each student produced an acceptable potion. 

He was still shaking his head when Harry entered the classroom several minutes later, Devon tried to sneer at him, unsuccessfully. A broad smile erupted on Harry’s face as he moved toward the Potions master, and Devon returned to studying at the rack of vials on his desk.

“Terrorizing the Hufflepuffs again?”

Devon’s head snapped up. Harry’s smile faded at the expression he saw.

“Actually, Mr. Potter, that is exactly what I was doing, and therein lies the problem.”

With a flick of his borrowed wand, Devon locked and warded the classroom. Moving around, he folded himself into the chair behind his desk and pinched the bridge of his nose. Both he and Harry had a free period before the seventh-years arrived, and he knew he needed to relax. Warm hands descended on his shoulders; thumbs dug into the tight muscles around his shoulder blade and kneaded the knots there gently. He slowly relaxed as the hands continued their ministrations.

“I became distracted during the last class, and almost had one of the first years in tears, purely unintentionally.”

“From the vials, it looks like something went right; they all seem to be about the same color,” Harry said softly.

“Yes.” He rolled his head as the strong fingers kneaded up the back of his neck and into his hairline. “I was able to salvage the lesson, but it was disconcerting to say the least.”

The worry was back, through the bond and in the young man’s voice. “I don’t think you are completely over that last Summoning, Devon.”

He let the fingers work their magic on his scalp, feeling it throughout his body. “You would have sworn that Severus Snape had been in my classroom this morning, and I am not proud of that, Harry.”

“Ginny Weasley mentioned that you had reminded her of someone lately.” As he spoke, Harry finger-combed Devon’s hair back from his face and began to rub his temples with the tips of his fingers. “I know the things she was talking about are subconscious gestures you don’t even know you are making, but we still need to be able to explain them.”

Devon snorted, “I could always say we are cousins. I am using Prince as a surname.” 

“All right,” Harry said cheerfully, leaning over him to press a kiss into Devon’s hair. “Your mother’s nephew should work, I would think. That solves one problem, now how about the one that is really bothering you?”

Devon could not help but snort again. The young man gently stroking his hair had become very perceptive in the short time since their bonding, and had quite the tenacious streak in him.

“Shall we take this somewhere more private?” Devon gathered the finished rack of potions and moved toward his office.

hpsshpsshpsshpss

Harry silently followed the older man through his office, moving into their rooms when Devon stopped at his desk. Devon was still pale and his mood had become more volatile since he had returned. Harry was worried. Setting his book bag on the floor, Harry dropped onto the couch and waved up the fire absently. With the uncanny ability of his kind, Dobby popped into the room, a tray laden with tea and sandwiches in his hands. With a smile and heartfelt thanks, Harry prepared two cups. Devon joined him after warding the door and shedding his teaching robes. 

Sliding a leg underneath him, Harry turned sideways so his knee rested against Devon’s thigh, needing the physical contact. “I know you are still upset about what, uh, I was thinking of doing, but there is something else going on.”

Devon took a sip of his tea before setting it back down with a sigh. He rested a warm hand on Harry’s knee, concern evident in his golden eyes.

“I am more than a little concerned that the Dark Lord is aware of my duplicity, and knows that I betrayed him to Albus many years ago. The last ‘punishment’ was excessive in comparison to my perceived transgression.” A haunted look lingered in the depth of those eyes, and Harry felt a cold shiver run down his spine.

“It was worse than you led me believe.”

“Yes.” The large hand on his knee tightened fractionally. “I did not want to worry you needlessly.”

Harry waited, taking a sip of his milky tea to mask the trepidation he felt, knowing the older man would speak when he was ready. Devon uncharacteristically fidgeted, his fingers trailing along the top of the creases in his trousers.

“The potions I was instructed to brew while I was there seemed to be suitable for healing, but had a number of unusual ingredients,” he said quietly, lifting his head to meet Harry’s eyes. “I recognized one of them as unicorn blood; another was phoenix tears, and I am almost positive a third was human blood.”

Feeling his stomach roll, Harry swallowed hard. “Why would Voldemort need something like that?”

“Like his mind, which is slowly slipping into madness, I believe his body is also deteriorating. The ingredients suggest that he may use the potion to maintain it until he finds a solution to the situation.”

“Which would be what?” Harry asked softly.

Devon’s eyes hardened. “Either rejuvenating his existing body or transferring his soul into a compatible body. Specifically the body he already shares a blood and magical connection with, I believe. ”

“ ‘… _and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives_.’”

The words of the prophecy leapt to the front of his mind. Horrified, Harry almost spilled his tea as the saucer tilted in his suddenly numb fingers. His bond-mate took them from him and set them on the table, sliding back to press against Harry. 

“That is why the bastard has suddenly decided he needs me on the winter solstice!” Harry realized, allowing Devon to tug him into his arms. “How much of this did you know?”

Devon leaned his chin on the top of Harry’s head. “I knew the potion did not bode well for the Light, as the Dark Lord will do anything to ensure his survival, as you well know. That, coupled with his punishment and demand for you to be brought in December, led to the conclusion I have drawn.” 

Harry shuddered at the thought of such evil inhabiting his body, “Well, at least we can prepare for this, and maybe find a way to around his plans.”

“It would take a bold move to circumvent his planning, which is usually quite elaborate where you are involved.” 

“What if we had the element of surprise?” Harry asked, his eyes closing as his mind paged through some of the information he had stored away in his mental trunk.

“Surprise?” 

The wariness in Devon’s voice cut through his mental exercise. Harry opened his eyes and tilted his head back to meet the worried eyes of his mate. “There was a recipe in the one of the first piles of Slytherin’s journals that we translated. I thought it was for a cleaning potion. It was one of the first references to the Horcruxes, though, so I read over it several times to memorize what I could, and tucked a reminder away.”

A frown creased Devon’s forehead and Harry held up his hand. “I know what you are thinking, and I have promised you that I will not do anything impetuous.” 

Devon quirked an eyebrow at him, and Harry felt a grin erupt even before the snarky comment came out.

“At least our affiliation has brought a much-needed expansion to your vocabulary.”

“I thought you would like that one,” Harry muttered as he snuggled closer, before lapsing back into his original train of thought. “I thought maybe if that potion was used to clean out the Horcruxes after the pieces of souls were returned to their owners, we could apply it to my scar to see if there was any trace of Voldemort’s soul there.”

“That would work if the piece is actually organic matter, Harry,” Devon cautioned him, once again resting his cheek on Harry’s head. “If it is a magical transfer of Dark power instead, as occurs when a solid object like a ring is made a Horcrux, the potion might actually cause damage to your own flesh.”

“I need to try, Devon,” Harry pushed the words past the lump of fear in his throat. “Every time I have faced him, my scar burned like it was on fire. The pain is so terrible that it affects my ability to fight back; it hurts so bad that sometimes I have trouble keeping my eyes open. Even in my first year, when Voldemort was just essence it was bad enough to bring tears to my eyes.”

Harry took a deep breath, trying to ease the ache in his chest. “I need to do something, or he may be able to incapacitate me before I can kill him.”

Strong arms held him, but both knew there was nothing Devon could say to reassure him. Left unsaid was Harry’s thought that Samhain would be a fitting time to force Voldemort’s hand, and to use the element of surprise against him.

hpsshpsshpsshpss

There was much to do, and Harry knew that time was growing short. It was essential that he accept what was to come and prepare as best as he could for the inevitable. When Devon lectured the NEWT-level class on the properties of some of the rarer potions ingredients, Harry only half-listened. 

While the other seventh-years learned about phoenix tears and basilisk venom, he tried to prioritize the list of things to do. First in importance to him was the potion to test his scar. There had to be some way of avoiding the debilitating pain Harry felt every time he was close to Voldemort, to negate that advantage. The second notation on his list concerned the six Horcruxes. He was able to check off the four Horcruxes: diary, ring, cup, and dagger. He noted that the locket currently hung around Voldemort’s neck. The sixth Horcrux was a tricky issue, and one that had been subject to heated debate. Harry felt that either he or Nagini was the final Horcrux, even though both Hermione and Devon believed otherwise. Harry was not about to give up searching, but they seemed to be running out of both time and information. 

The final item concerned clearing Severus Snape’s name, and Harry planned to get that done immediately. Harry refused to allow his bond-mate to be portrayed as a murder and a traitor, and Harry knew he had to compile the evidence of Severus’ innocence. Hermione had taught him how to copy a memory strand; Harry was going to prepare a Pensieve with the memories Albus Dumbledore had left him, as well as his own. In addition to ensuring that information was in safe hands, Harry wanted to have a will drawn up. Neither he nor Severus held much hope of surviving the final battle, and Harry wanted to make sure all their assets were properly distributed. 

“Harry!” 

Hermione sounded like she had called him more than once, and he looked up with an apologetic smile. The witch sighed and nudged him his arm with her hip.

“Class was over five minutes ago, Harry!” she told him, a touch of exasperation in her tone. “Are you coming with me or staying?”

A glance toward the front of the room showed him that Devon was engaged in conversation with Blaise Zabini, and Harry gathered his notes. Devon had office hours until dinner, so Harry had time to meet with Ron and Hermione to bring them up to date. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he followed his friend out of the dungeons and towards the Head Students’ rooms. Other students flowed around them as they walked silently up the stairs, and Harry found himself watching the first-years of various Houses. Most were still wide-eyed with wonder over the grandeur of the ancient castle and the magic of moving staircases, reminding him of how truly young they were, how young he had been when he had first walked these same halls.

Muttering the password, Hermione pushed open the heavy wooden door and all but pulled Harry through it. Ron was already sprawled on the couch in the living room, a half-eaten apple in his hand. He shifted his feet out of the way so that Hermione could sit down, and Harry set his bag on the floor and arched his back.

“You skipped lunch, mate.” Ron said, tossing Harry an apple as he dropped his bag.

Deftly catching it, Harry shrugged out of his robes before he bit into it. Sitting down on the low table, he chewed slowly, composing his thoughts, as his best friends watched him with growing concern. Harry took a deep breath and then filled them in on the afternoon's discussion. Hermione’s horrified expression changed to a fierce scowl as Harry spoke, while Ron’s face grew red with indignation with each of the items on his list. 

“We will need to start on the potion immediately, so while Devon has his office hours, I thought Ron could go with me to retrieve Slytherin’s book,” Harry told them, his eyes moving from one to the other.

“I thought the potion Devon developed blocked the pain Voldemort caused in your scar?” Hermione asked in a puzzled tone.

“It helps block the pain in my scar when I have a vision. Occlumency has helped as well, but there has to be a root cause of the pain,” Harry explained, “and I believe there was an accidental exchange that night in Godric’s Hallow. Voldemort meant to kill me, but I think the piece of soul he had prepared to make his last Horcrux was accidentally transferred to me when the Killing Curse rebounded.”

“And you were never prepared to be a vessel, so the sliver causes you pain, whether through your scar link or by Voldemort's proximity,” Hermione stated excitedly. “It does seem like a plausible explanation.”

Ron leaned toward Harry. “Bloody hell, mate! She is hanging around your boyfriend way too much!”

Harry managed a grin and nodded in agreement. “She is right though, Ron, which is why I need to get the journal. If I can clean this out of my scar, then I can take that advantage away from the bastard.”

“And Devon agrees with this?” Ron asked, clearly remembering their earlier conversation.

Harry nodded. “Yes, we talked about it this afternoon, and while he doesn’t like the idea, he agreed to it.”

Hermione gave him another of her pointed looks. “It sounds like you have decided to make the first move, but I think you need to pick a date that is as magically strong as the Winter Solstice, Harry, and that would seem to be either the Autumnal Equinox or Samhain.” 

“Why is that?” Harry asked.

Hermione glared and Ron rolled his eyes. “You have been in the magical world long enough to realize that certain days are considered more magically charged than others, Harry! Old magic, from the time of the Celtics and their priests, the Druids, is particularly strong on days that involve the phases of the sun and moon. Even today, most wizarding families still follow the old traditions to one degree or another. The Druids celebrated the solstices as well as the Vernal and Autumnal Equinoxes, Harry, believing the elemental magic in the earth was strongest on those days.”

Harry nodded, recalling that Slytherin had mentioned the power in what he described as ‘earth magic’. It made sense that the influence of the planets could increase magic, as even Muggles acknowledged the influence of the moon.

“It would make sense to wait until the Autumnal Equinox to launch whatever plan we come up with. Of course, Halloween would even be better, as that is the night that we celebrate those who had died, friend and foe alike, and the veil between the worlds is the thinnest.”

His heart constricted as the image of Sirius’ as he fell through the archway in the Department of Mysteries came unbidden to his mind. A hand settled gently on his knee, and he looked up.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said, her eyes glistening.

Nodding, Harry took a deep breath and returned to the conversation. “If those are the two most important magical dates between now and the Winter Solstice, then we need to concentrate on them,” Harry said firmly, “which leaves us either two weeks or at the most six weeks to get prepared.”

“Dad can probably help arrange for the barrister who handled Dumbledore’s will to meet with you,” Ron offered.

“Is he up to it?”

“Yeah, Mum owled Ginny that he was grumbling about laying around for so long, wants to get back to work. This would give him something to occupy his time for a bit.”

Harry nodded, relieved his request had not drawn protests. “If you want to go fire-call him, Hermione can come with me to the Chamber.”

Ron agreed and they separated to attend to their tasks.

hpsshpsshpsshpss

The potion turned out to be a complex one that took five days to brew and another day to rest before they could use it. Hermione helped Devon with the preparations, and Ron accompanied Harry to his accelerated training. Remus Lupin and Kingsley Shacklebolt were working with Harry on his dueling skills, with Ron, Hermione, and Devon joining them whenever possible. The Headmistress approved Devon’s request to use the Shrieking Shack so that Harry could learn to block Dark spells. The Potions master intended to teach his young bond-mate several ambiguous spells, the intent of the caster changing them from Light to Dark. The three men agreed that while Harry should not be casting Dark spells, he needed to work with them in order to know how to defend himself. Both Ron and Hermione, as prime targets of the Death Eaters, attended the sessions as well. They varied the times of the lessons, and erected temporary wards and concealment charms around the Shack to mask the use of Dark magic. Harry knew his time was short now and he had to everything to lose, so he began to concentrate on the magic itself, feeling the energy as it was being cast to gauge the intensity and anticipate how to block it. If that would give him a split-second advantage, Harry would have that much more of an edge.

Between classes, dueling lessons, and falling into bed exhausted at night, Harry managed to organize their wills with the help of Arthur Weasley. Upon meeting the barrister Albus Dumbledore had trusted to handle his estate, Harry was delighted to find a witch of indeterminate age who had a kindly face and a no-nonsense approach to her work. Although a solicitor could have handled the writing of their wills, Ailene Fitzgerald assured him that Dumbledore had explained the situation before his death, and she was prepared to handle any type of representation Harry or his mate needed. Harry did not question her, still astounded by the figures on the goblin produced Gringotts’ parchments. It seemed that the Dumbledore’s were as wealthy as the Blacks had been, and with the remaining wealth left to him by his parents, the bond-mates rivaled the Malfoys in worth. A twinge of sadness reminded him of that family’s recent losses, and Harry sobered quickly. 

The two men had outlined the stipulations and bequests they both wished to make in the event of their deaths. Devon had surprised him by insisting provisions be made in both documents for children, and Harry, though confused, had readily agreed. The mental image of a dark-eyed baby with silky raven hair made him smile, but Harry forced it into his mental trunk, knowing there was no time for daydreaming. Ailene was not a member of the Order of the Phoenix, which put her above the vow of fidelity, but an Unbreakable Vow between them had ensured their privacy, and Harry promised to gather the evidence they would need later to clear Severus Snape’s name.

hpsshpsshpsshpss

Devon Prince Flooed through to Godric’s Hollow mid-afternoon on Friday the sixteenth. He had decided to take advantage of his free period at that afternoon, knowing Harry would be along when his class was over. Nerel greeted him as he stepped into the hall alcove, bowing deeply as Tiffy and Piat curtsied, and Devon acknowledged them with a dip of his head. He handed Tiffy the fresh herbs she had requested they bring when Dobby let them know the pair was coming for the weekend. Requesting a cup of tea, Devon made his way up to the suite of rooms he and Harry shared. 

A hot shower washed the potions residue from his skin and hair, and he wrapped a towel around his waist as he stepped back into the bedroom. The requested tray of tea sat waiting and he poured himself a cup, delighting in the subtle blend of teas and citrus. Carrying it with him to the bed, Devon set it down on the bedside table before searching through his discarded robes for the small vial of Polyjuice antidote. As well as he had adapted to living in the skin of his alter ego, he wanted to spend this weekend as himself. Realistically, this could be the last time they would have an opportunity to be alone before they had to face their destiny, and he was going to take full advantage of it. Tossing back the contents of the vial, Severus closed his eyes as he felt the wave of heat wash over him. A sip of hot black tea helped wash the bitterness of the potion from his mouth. 

Severus never would have believed it if someone had told him ten years ago that he would feel the safest in the childhood home of his nemesis. With a bemused shake of his head, Severus slipped into the soft silk trousers already laid out on the bed. A cream jumper sat neatly folded nearby, and Severus rolled his eyes at house-elf efficiency as he tugged it over his head. Smoothing his hair back and gathering it at the nape of his neck, Severus tied it with a leather strap. 

Bending over the teaching robe that Harry had presented him with the past summer, Severus retrieved the potions pouch he had secured in them. He scowled at the black leather as if it were guilty of something beyond carrying the Horcrux cleansing potion. Intellectually, he knew this was the best way to deal with the situation, but the heart that Harry had managed to thaw screamed with trepidation. Yet, there was always the possibility that the Dark Lord would attempt to use the link with Harry again to possess him again. Despite the young man’s improved Occlumency and obvious increase in power, Severus was not sure Harry could withstand an all out assault. The pain he had observed in Harry’s memory had been excruciating.

It had taken all his considerable abilities to project the self-hatred he felt as a shield to deflect the Dark Lord’s probing after Severus had fled Hogwarts in June, and the pain of the intrusion had been almost welcome. He had known that in killing Albus Dumbledore, he had shredded more that his soul, and the despair had settled over him, making him wish he were dead himself. Severus had been ready for death the night Harry found him in Dumbledore’s house, would have welcomed it, in fact. The restraint that the teenager had exhibited in those first moments astounded him, given Harry’s thirst for revenge. Anyone else would have killed him without stopping for an explanation. But Harry, his Harry, had listened and accepted the final request of Albus Dumbledore. Even after all he had done to add to the misery of the boy’s life, Harry had not only accepted him, but had learned to love him to a depth unfathomable to Severus. Moreover, Severus had learned in the past three months that he could return that love, more deeply than he could have ever imagined. 

Shaking himself out of his introspective mood, Severus took his teacup down to the sunny library. Poppy would be here in the morning when he administered the potion, as would Minerva. Severus had been particularly cautious in watching for any caustic interaction in the ingredients, flesh being infinitely more susceptible to injury than the metal and stone for which the potion was formulated. He carefully set the potion on the top of the desk and cast a protective field on it. Nerel had lit the fire, and Severus stretched out on the couch, allowing the warmth to seep into his tired muscles. There had been little time to simply relax of late, and Severus quickly fell asleep.

A hand carding through his unbound hair coaxed him awake, as did the tip of an agile tongue tracing the curve of his ear. Murmuring his pleasure, Severus kept his eyes closed, savoring Harry’s closeness as he continued to stroke a hand through his hair. Lips pressed to his temple, and Severus shifted enough for Harry to kiss him properly. From there, it only took a slight tug to pull the young man down beside him on the wide couch. Burying his nose in the still damp hair of his bond-mate, Severus breathed in Harry’s clean, sweet scent, content to hold him in silence for several long moments, before his stomach rumbled.

“What time is it?” He pulled back to look at the window on the opposite wall, seeing that the sky was stained with the late summer sunset.

“About dinner time,” Harry answered him with a grin, rubbing against him suggestively.

Severus tucked Harry underneath him as he rolled on top, kissing him thoroughly. Standing, he extended his hand to help Harry up. Nerel popped in to announce dinner just as Harry stood, holding out the leather thong in his fingers. Severus pocketed it as they followed the diminutive creature into the family dinning room and allowed an excited Piat to serve them. It felt surreal to Severus to be sitting in their home, chatting quietly across the large table, an attempt at a normalcy that neither of them had ever known. Harry flashed him a smile as Piat cleared away the pudding and Tiffy made an appearance to accept their praise of her cooking. 

When they returned to the library, Severus found that he could not settle, despite the book on spell-writing that he had brought with him. Harry slowly circled the room, going through the many books there, theoretically to pick one to read. Severus found himself staring into the fire, determined not to let his mind wander ahead to morning. The couch dipped as Harry sat down beside him, slipping under Severus’ arm.

“Severus? What do normal couples do in the evenings when they don’t have Dark Lords hanging over their heads?”

A flash of memory slammed into him: he and his mother sitting silent and fearful as his father sat drinking in the sitting room of Spinner’s End. Severus squelched the image firmly, pushing it and any other memories that might escape back behind his carefully constructed barriers. Instead, he set his book down on the side table and wrapped his arms around the younger man. 

“My prior knowledge of domesticity rivals your own, unfortunately, so I believe we should establish our own sense of what is normal.”

Harry grinned at that and leaned in closer. “I think I’d just like to go up to our room and cuddle.”

Severus almost snorted at the look of feigned innocence that Harry was attempting, but he managed to manufacture a sneer. “I will have you know, Mr. Potter, that I do not cuddle.”

“Yes, Professor Snape, sir,” replied the cheeky brat, batting his eyes in an exaggerated manner. 

A laugh escaped before Severus could stop it, and with a shake of his head, he stood up and pulled his bond-mate from the couch. “Adjourning to our room does sound like an inspired idea. Come, brat.”

The couple headed straight for the bedroom. Tiffy had already lit several floating tapers and turned down the bedding. Severus completed his ablutions after Harry, sliding into bed when his bonded held the sheets up. Enveloping Harry in his arms, Severus savored the feeling of skin against skin, of limbs tangling, and the warmth of the young man whom he had come to love deeply. A soft sigh escaped, but he wasn’t sure whether it was from him or Harry, and they lay there for long moments, simply basking in each other’s warmth. 

Their intertwined magic began to pleasantly heat everywhere their skin touched. Severus slid a hand up to thread his fingers through the tousled hair, and brought their lips together softly. Their movements unhurried, they concentrated on the sensations their fingers and lips provoked. Harry’s hands coated both their cocks, pulling gently as Severus prepared him. The slow build of arousal became uncontrollable as Severus slid slowly into Harry’s velvet heat. His climax was already roaring through his belly and balls as he lurched to his knees. Grasping the slender hips, Severus pounded into his bond-mate, once, twice, before slamming home and shouting his release into Harry’s mouth. The younger man arched upward, splattering both their bellies with his seed.

“Harry,” Severus sighed against the sweat-dampened hair, “I love you.”

Severus could hear the gasp his word caused, and felt Harry’s smile against his throat. “And I love you, Severus.”

hpsshpsshpsshpss

Something woke Severus from a sound sleep. He lay perfectly still as he tried to identify what had caused it, a technique he had perfected during his years of spying. The smell of vomit assaulted his nostrils, and Harry was stiff beside him. With a whimper that stretched into a wail, Harry arched his back, forcing his head back into the pillow. Just then the pain he’d apparently been unconsciously blocking from their bond slammed into Severus. The excruciating agony ripped through him like the strongest _Crucio_ Severus had ever felt, carrying with it the image Harry could no longer Occlude against – an enraged Dark Lord pouring all his power through the magical link with Harry to kill him. Severus tried to roll to the side as his stomach heaved.

“Nerel!”

The seconds it took for the house-elf to appear seemed to stretch forever. Severus gritted his teeth against the insidious pain, trying to hold onto Harry as he waved up the torches. The Dark Lord had discovered Salazar Slytherin’s ring was missing, and that Harry had warded off the Chamber of Secrets, alerting him to the systematic destruction of his Horcruxes. His bond-mate was jerking as if in a seizure.

“Master Severus?” Nerel was beside him, banishing the vomit from the bedding with a snap of his fingers.

“Bring me the potions pouch on the desk in the library immediately, and then I need Dobby to fetch Madam Pomfrey from Hogwarts!”

Nerel’s round eyes flashed to Harry’s deathly pale face before he vanished with a _pop_. Moving to brace his back against the headboard, Severus pulled Harry’s head into his lap. The pain coursing through him made every movement difficult, and Severus was relying on sheer determination even as his vision started to gray. Piat appeared at his side, the black leather bag in her hand. With fingers that shook, Severus reached into the pouch when Piat opened it, pulling out a small vial of a translucent violet pain reliever and downing it. 

Harry stiffened again, his back bowing as the torture began again. Severus was hard pressed to hold the teenager still as he convulsed. Snatching the vial of Horcrux cleaner, Severus tried to steady both his hands and Harry, until several small hands stilled his mate’s movement with firm but gentle pressure. Tiffy had appeared, climbing on the bed to help Piat hold Harry. Severus thumbed the cork out of the vial, brushing the tousled hair back from the lightning bolt-shaped scar with his other hand. He paused for just a second to take a breath, the pain pulsing through him in waves.

“I love you.”

Carefully, Severus trickled the vile smelling potion along the zigzag shape from the top to the bottom. Nothing happened. He tried again, this time starting from the bottom up, repeating the action until the vial was empty. A hand took the vial from him, but Severus did not have time to greet the new arrival. Harry suddenly gasped, his emerald eyes flying open, the irises gleaming iridescent in the low torch light. Pain seared through Severus’ forehead as a glowing liquid, as green as the Killing Curse, began to pour from Harry’s scar. The pain pressed in on Severus as he tried to prevent Harry from hurting himself, and slowly Severus lost his tenuous grip on consciousness, falling into a yawning blackness.

hpsshpsshpsshpss

Pain was the first thing that Severus was aware of when he awoke, incredible pain pounding through his head. A flash of memory hit him, and he would have jumped up if a pair of strong hands had not restrained him.

“Poppy! Severus is wake!” 

Minerva’s voice was too shrill and too close, but it sounded like pure music to Severus’ ears as he relaxed into the soft bedding beneath him. Keeping his eyes closed against the pain, Severus concentrated on his other senses and recognized the familiar form cradled against his side. The bond between them assured him that Harry was still alive and in considerable pain. The lack of any cognitive brain activity could simply be a by-product of the pain potions that Harry had swallowed, and his unconscious state.

“Here, dear, just open your mouth and swallow,” the mediwitch’s familiar brisk voice told him. Severus obeyed, shuddering at the taste of the potion.

“Harry…” Severus tried to get his voice to work, but his throat seemed to close up on him.

“Is right here, Severus, although he has not woken up yet, so we are unsure as to his condition,” Poppy told him, her hand lingering on his shoulder.

Severus forced his eyes open, focusing them on the still figure at his side. Harry was deathly pale, a large white bandage wrapped around his forehead, and Severus shifted his gaze to the two women who stood beside their bed. The two female house-elves moved around the room behind them, but Severus kept his eyes on the mediwitch. 

“How long have we been unconscious?”

“Not long, Severus, perhaps half an hour. The potion was successful, we believe, but it did cause some localized burning to the skin around the scar, and we don’t know what effect it has had on Harry.”

Severus nodded, as the potion he had taken dulled the edge of the pain he felt. He took a moment to reinforce his Occlumency barriers, but did not close off the bond with Harry. After allowing Poppy to help him drink some water, Severus was grateful to settle back on the pillow and readjust Harry against his side. 

“I will stay with you, Severus,” Minerva McGonagall assured him, patting his shoulder, “we both will. Now sleep. We will deal with this in the morning.”

Tightening his grip on the younger man, Severus closed his eyes. If the link had truly been broken, the Dark Lord would believe he had killed Harry. That might trigger a celebratory reaction and, hopefully, occupy the bastard until they could be ready to face him. It did make Severus’ position as a spy tenuous at best. If Harry Potter was dead, Severus had no reason to maintain the charade of teaching potions. The Mark on his arm was ominously quiet, and an uneasy feeling accompanied him into sleep.

hpsshpsshpsshpss

Harry felt like he was swimming through a sea of fog as he struggled towards wakefulness. His whole body ached as it had when he fell off his broom in his third year, courtesy of the Dementors, and his head throbbed in time to the beat of his heart. Something was different; something felt like it was missing. Frantically, Harry clawed his way to consciousness, a sob blocking his throat. Where was the bond? Where was Severus? The sob migrated to his chest, stopping his ability to breath, and he could feel tears well up in his eyes as he struggled to open them. Hands restrained him firmly, and Harry felt the tears fall as his fears go the better of him.

“Shhh, love, it’s all right,” that beloved voice crooned in his ear. “I have you, Harry.”

Harry turned in the familiar arms, tears running unchecked down his face. “Severus! I had a terrible dream!”

A large hand cradled Harry's head gently, even as the other arm banded tightly around his waist to pull him flush against the warmth of his bond-mate. Harry nuzzled Severus’ shoulder; the movement made him aware of a bandage on his forehead, and he stiffened. Long fingers carded through his hair, and he felt the kiss Severus pressed to his temple, but then Harry was tugged away from the warmth by another set of hands.

“It wasn’t a dream, was it?” He sought the obsidian eyes as Poppy Pomfrey clucked her tongue at him.

“No.” Severus slid another pillow behind him and handed him his glasses as the mediwitch waved her wand over him. “I believe that the Dark Lord finally went to check on the Slytherin ring when he finally decided that Draco Malfoy could not have removed the locket from its well-fortified location.”

Harry blinked at him. That would explain why Voldemort had not reacted badly when the Slytherin artifact was returned to him, although how Malfoy could have known anything about the Horcruxes he wasn't sure. The older man held his eyes as he cupped Harry’s face.

“Lucius Malfoy must have known about the Hor—the locket and stuff!” Harry surmised, ignoring the potion Madam Pomfrey held out to him. 

“Yes, now hold still so Poppy can look at your forehead.”

Harry tilted his head back, acknowledging for the first time the worry in the witch’s eyes. “Oh, you must have used the potion then. I seem to vaguely remember something melting, but…” He swallowed, remembering the searing pain that had pushed him finally into the dark oblivion. 

Poppy removed the dressing with quick efficiency, running firm fingers over his skin. Harry winced at the soreness, his scar feeling more bruised than anything else. A glance out the window showed a thin line of gold at the horizon, heralding the arrival of dawn, just as a noise from the other side of the bed made him aware for the first time of the Headmistress’ presence. His eyes found Severus and then turned inward. Their bond pulsed with life as Harry removed the barrier he did not remember putting up, and he slid into the deeper reaches of his mind. 

Harry felt Severus follow him, a solid, safe presence at his back as he examined the solid walls he had erected to keep Voldemort out, wincing as he saw the ruin they had been reduced to. Yet, the glowing crimson strand of magic that had pulsed there was gone. The Dark magic that had tied him to the bastard since he was a toddler had vanished. A quick check of his mental trunk showed him that everything else appeared to be intact. Harry felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, and he could feel the tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes as Severus pulled him close, mentally as well as physically.

_'It was true then, I was the sixth Horcrux.’_

_‘An accidental Horcrux, I think. I believe that the Dark Lord planned to use the significance of your death to create a Horcrux, and had everything prepared, but when the Killing Curse rebounded on him, the prepared sliver of soul was jarred loose.’_

_‘And now, will I be different?’_ Anxiety and dread filled the bond.

_'I think you will be Harry, beloved, just Harry.’_

Protected in his bond-mate’s arms, Harry allowed Poppy Pomfrey to put burn paste on his forehead, and drank the foul tasting potion without grumbling. His chances of surviving his ultimate battle with Lord Voldemort had just improved immensely, and Harry allowed himself to believe a future might be possible. The question of how much the sliver of Dark that had resided in his head since he was fifteen months old might have affected his own magic was something they would have to examine, but for the moment, Harry was delighted to be free of it. He held tightly to Severus as the relaxant in the potion took effect and he lost his battle against sleep.

hpsshpsshpsshpss

Devon Prince surveyed the Slytherin table Monday morning over the rim of his teacup, watching for any undue interest in Harry’s absence at breakfast. The teenager was still sleeping in their rooms, taking advantage of the decision by the head of the Order of the Phoenix to keep him out of sight for at least one more day. The sudden cessation of the link with the Dark Lord may have convinced Voldemort that Harry had died as a result of his assault. The extra time certainly would give them the chance to assess any changes in Harry and his magical abilities, now that he was free of Tom Riddle’s direct influence. From what he could tell through their bond, Devon was convinced that the Dark Lord may have been able to siphon magical power from Harry, whether consciously or subconsciously, and it could have been the reason he had survived this long in a transfigured body.

The lack of so much as a twinge in his Dark Mark had taken on an ominous tone, Devon thought as his eyes swept the Hall. Regardless of where the Dark Lord believed he was in his courtship of Harry Potter, as a professor at Hogwarts, Devon Prince should have been informed of the demise of a student. The lack of a summons seemed to point at a test of his loyalties, at a time when he knew that he was on shaky ground already with the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord. It was just as well, Devon thought, knowing that the inevitable was rapidly approaching, and he would be showing his true colors to the world. It was a relief to realize that he would not be going back alone the next time the Dark Mark flared.

A large black eagle owl soared down from the usual influx of avian bringing the morning post, and Devon looked up with a frown as it landed in front of him, sticking out its foot. A tiny scroll of parchment was affixed to the leg. Devon had his wand in hand, silently checking the scroll for any type of magic, including that of a portkey, but he found nothing other than a privacy spell. Removing it, Devon tossed the bird a piece of bacon as he slowly unrolled the scrap. It bore a single sentence.

_**I know what you are.** _


	41. Stratagem

* * *

“Devon?” 

Minerva McGonagall had noticed Devon’s reaction to the owl post. He silently passed the slip of parchment to her. Did the threat concern his relationship to Harry or his alter ego? Was this from a student who had figured out that he was, in fact, Severus Snape? The Headmistress gasped indignantly as she read the single sentence, but Devon kept his eyes on the students, watching for anyone who appeared unusually interested. 

“Devon, if you will accompany me to my office, I believe I know who wrote this.”

The severe look on the formidable witch’s face was enough to quell the questions that came to mind, and Devon stood silently, following her out of the Great Hall. As they moved steadily up the staircase to the Headmistress’ office, Devon took the opportunity to check on Harry through their bond. The removal of the sliver of Tom Riddle’s soul had taken sapped Harry’s physical strength, even as they had discovered that the evil bastard had apparently been draining magical power from him. The snapping of the link might have had more of an impact on the Dark Lord than they had expected, and Devon wondered why he had not been summoned in the ensuing forty-eight hours. The healing potion that he had been forced to brew the last time he had attended the Dark Lord was not going to last long if used daily, Devon reflected as they rode the moving stairway.

McGonagall flicked her wand to erect a strong Imperturbable spell around the door before she waved him to a chair. She moved to go through a stack of scrolls on the side of her desk. “Ah, yes! Here it is!”

Pulling out a small roll of parchment, the Headmistress brought it to where Devon sat. Unrolling it so that he could see the contents, Devon found that he was looking at a request for permission to have two siblings visit their parents that very evening. When he glanced up at Minerva with a frown, she redirected his attention to the signature at the bottom of the note. Percy Weasley.

“Now, look again at the message you received.”

Devon retrieved the missive from his pocket, and compared it to the note the witch held, and had to agree that the writing was the same. His frown deepened. 

“Why would Percy Weasley, of all people, send me a note like this?”

“Maybe it is just the first,” McGonagall said thoughtfully, seating herself primly behind the large desk. “It may be an attempt to blackmail you for some purpose of his own. I'm more concerned about why he would write to say that Molly and Arthur need Ronald and Ginevra home this evening, and I have sent an owl to Molly to ask.”

Devon returned Percy's note to his pocket before meeting his friend’s dark eyes. There were several things this note could refer to, but the wording seemed to point to his identity as a Death Eater. If that were the case, then Weasley somehow knew of his ‘service’ to the Dark Lord, which was restricted information, even within the Order. He had appeared at several Order meetings as Devon Prince, but Percy Weasley was not a member of that organization; by process of elimination, it pointed at the former student being a Death Eater himself. The only other explanation would be that the Junior Assistant to the Minister of Magic was acting on information he had discovered at the Ministry, or at the direction of Rufus Scrimgeour. An unspoken message passed between him and the woman he had known since his was eleven years old. 

“Either alternative is a daunting prospect, Severus,” Minerva told him grimly. Her use of his name was deliberate, he knew. “While I would like to believe he has betrayed his family out of a sense of duty to the Ministry, I have had my doubts as to Mr. Weasley’s true allegiance since the incident on September 1st.”

“Yes,” Devon agreed. For the moment, he was less concerned about the implication of yet another blow to Harry’s adoptive family than the danger to all of them if Weasley were working under the direction of the Dark Lord. “I will just have to wait and see what Mr. Weasley chooses to do next. I must give at least the appearance of concern when threatened with exposure, Minerva.”

“I realize that, but you will not put yourself at any undue risk, as there is some question as to whether your true loyalties are known to He Who Must Not Be Named.”

Devon nodded in agreement as he pushed himself out of the chair. ”I will endeavor to use the utmost care, and I will promise you that I will not leave the grounds without notifying you.”

The Headmistress gave him a tight smile. “Thank you, Devon. I will inform you as soon as I have heard from Molly.” 

Devon Prince strode through the hallways, unaware of the students who scampered to get out of his way as he moved purposefully towards the dungeons, his mind occupied with this latest mystery. If he were exposed as a Death Eater before they were ready, he would not be able to help his mate defeat the Dark Lord. If he were exposed as Severus Snape, Harry might not have time to gather the information to exonerate him, and there was always the chance of being executed on sight by someone like Weasley. 

Stepping through his office and into the private rooms he shared with Harry, Devon tucked his concerns away as he took in his sleeping mate. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Devon stroked a hand through the tousled raven hair, unable to stop the smile that rose to his lips as Harry pressed back against the petting in a feline manner. Color had returned to the young man’s face, and the red and swollen lightning bolt scar was the only lingering sign of the Dark Lord’s most recent attack. Devon could feel the increase in Harry’s magical power as it flowed just beneath the scalp where he rested his hand, fingers entwined in the soft hair. His eyes traced the fine features. He could not believe how deeply he had come to love Harry.

“Devon?” 

Sleepy green eyes blinked up at him, and Devon let Harry see his smile before he leaned down to gently kiss the inflamed scar. “How do you feel?”

hpsshpsshpsshpss

Harry pushed himself into a sitting position as he watched Devon settle on the bed next to him. The bond vibrated with feelings absent from Devon’s face, and Harry was astounded by the depth of anxiety he detected. Removing the piece of Voldemort’s soul had, among other things, deepened the link between them, and Harry suspected it had supplanted the Dark Mark’s tie. 

“I feel much better now,” Harry told him. Devon’s eyebrow rose in disbelief. “I do, really. Please, tell me what has happened.”

Devon silently pulled the scroll of parchment from his pocket and handed it to him. Harry’s stomach clenched as he read the single sentence, and he knew that this was the cause of Devon’s anxiety.

“Minerva believes this is Percy Weasley’s handwriting as she also received a missive from him this morning, summoning Ronald and Ginevra home this afternoon to see their parents.”

“Home?” Harry’s head snapped up. “He has no idea that his parents have been staying at Grimmauld Place, obviously.”

“It would seem not.”

The terse words fairly vibrated with animosity, and Harry felt a surge of trepidation.

“I have promised the Headmistress that I will not leave the grounds without notifying her.” The golden eyes met his as a warm hand cupped his cheek. “I will not willingly put myself in to a position of danger, Harry.”

Harry nodded as he leaned into the caress, knowing that this was the best he could expect in these turbulent times. Reaching up, he tugged on the elegant hand, pulling Devon against him and wrapping his arms around the slender waist. He knew there were hard times coming, and loathe as he was to be murdered or to murder, Harry knew it was going to happen soon. Devon seemed content to settle beside him and hold Harry for several long moments, in a comfortable silence.

“Minerva asked me to remind you of your meeting at half past one. She assured me there would be food as an incentive to assure your prompt attendance.”

A smile spread across his face, but Harry did not move right away, knowing he could shower and dress in less than ten minutes. He wanted to prolong this quiet interlude as long as he could, as Harry knew that Devon would have to head up to the Great Hall to make an appearance at lunch. A sigh escaped both of them in unison, and Harry loosened his arms. Devon gathered him tightly, gracing him with a hungry kiss that held many promises, before he pulled back, amber eyes lingering on Harry’s face. The older man leaned back and pressed a gentle kiss to the swollen scar.

“I… I wish you to know that I love you.”

The amber eyes were intent on his, and Harry found he had to swallow the lump in his throat before he could answer. “And I love you, Severus Snape,” Harry whispered as he leaned in for a kiss that was wrenchingly tender.

Devon slid out of Harry’s arms reluctantly. “Make sure you have your cloak with you at all times, and do not allow yourself to be seen.”

Harry nodded and watched as his mate left the room, robes billowing as he went, and tried not to feel apprehensive. He was out of bed and into the shower without conscious thought, determined to get the legalities handled, in the event that the situation came to a head sooner rather than later. A shiver ran down his spine as Harry glanced at the calendar as he passed Devon's desk on his way to the Floo; today was the Autumnal Equinox. 

His head spun as he stepped out of the fireplace in the Headmistress' office, but otherwise, Harry was pleased that he felt almost normal. Pausing to brush soot from the front of his school robes, he heard the now familiar sound of Aileene Fitzgerald’s voice as she debated some point of magical law with Kingsley Shacklebolt, there as a witness. Stepping forward, Harry moved toward the large desk as Minerva McGonagall looked up from the stack of parchment in front of her.

“Harry!” The older woman stood and greeted him, dark eyes raking over his face assessing. “You are looking much better today.”

“Thank you, Professor, I am feeling much better,” Harry smiled and turned to greet the other two occupants.

Settling into the vacant chair next to the barrister, Harry listened silently as the former Slytherin they had chosen detailed what she needed from him. A request for a secret hearing with the elders of the Wizengamot had been accepted and would be held that afternoon, Aileene explained. Dismay showed on Harry’s face as the witch shrugged and admitted that using Harry’s name had sped the process up significantly. 

“You can be mad at me later, Harry, but right now, I have about an hour to gather the documents and the Pensieve memories that will exonerate Severus,” she told him matter of factly.

Harry swallowed the sharp retort that he had planned to deliver and nodded. He was well aware that without the magical protection of the Wizengamot, his mate could be arrested and imprisoned without benefit of trial if he were caught. As Harry pulled out the last of the memories Aileene needed - the memory of their vows to each other as they bonded - a familiar Patronus burst through an inner wall. It flew around McGonagall twice before brushing against Harry in a soft caress before it dissipated. The Headmistress looked up at him with a grim expression.

“Devon has received another note. This one demands he go immediately to the front gates of the school.” She closed her eyes tightly. “He promised he would not step beyond them.”

sshpsshpsshpsshp

Harry ran through the corridors with Kingsley Shacklebolt at his heels, making it to the oak front doors just in time to see the sweep of black robes at the iron gates. Pansy Parkinson’s pug-face and dark hair were easily recognizable as she walked beside him, chattering. Taking off at a run, Harry could make out a flash of red hair underneath a black hat and the glint of the sun on a pair of glasses. Percy Weasley! Harry ran as fast as he could, his eyes never leaving his mate, who stayed an arm's length back from the gates. Harry could make out the sound of raised voices over the sound of his heart pounding.

Disaster struck in slow motion: as Devon tried to step away from his position next to the statue of the winged boar, Parkinson shoved him forward. A length of black was thrown through the iron bars, and Harry relaxed a little as he could see it was just a scarf, until the edge that wrapped around Devon’s forearm glittered blue. Pansy Parkinson threw herself across the Potions master’s arm to grab the end of the material.

“Devon, it’s a Portkey!” Harry screamed aloud as well as mentally, but he was too late.

Devon Prince, Pansy Parkinson, and Percy Weasley all disappeared in a swirl of magic. Harry slid to a stop, immediately opening his mind to his mate and feeling the sharp tang of apprehension and betrayal. Seeing where Devon had landed and knowing he would need his full abilities to concentrate and withstand what was to come, Harry withdrew, leaving a small hole in the bottom of the barrier in order to allow Devon free access to his power. Strong hands grabbed his shoulders as if to prevent him from following the trio, and Harry found he had to swallow the lump that formed in his throat before he could speak.

“Voldemort has him, and he knows Severus is a traitor.” 

His voice was a harsh whisper as he looked up and met the dark eyes of the Auror, which hardened immediately. The time had come, Harry knew, to fulfill the prophecy that had governed his life since his conception. He followed Shacklebolt silent back up to the Headmistress’ office, where Professor McGonagall waited, grim-faced, to hear Harry describe what had happened. At some point during his recital, Ron and Hermione had arrived, flanking Harry as he stood in front of the large oak desk. 

“You will not leave Hogwarts without my consent, Mr. Potter, as I will not tolerate you dashing off to attempt some type of rescue for Devon, er, Severus. Do I make myself clear?” Fear added extra snap to Minerva McGonagall’s voice.

Harry shook his head slowly. “You know I cannot promise you that, Professor. The bastard has Severus and is torturing him in the hope that he will reveal the Order's plans. I will not make any rash attempts to rescue Severus on my own, but remember that we are soul-bound; if Severus dies, then so will I, regardless of whether I am safe at Hogwarts or not. I think we need to pull our plans together quickly, as I am not sure how long he can hold out.”

The witch’s face softened. “Give the Order time to get into position around the Manor in Little Hangleton, Harry, and be prepared. If you feel you must go, then at least forewarn me. And promise me that you will not go alone.”

Ron Weasley leaned forward. “We promise he won’t, Professor.”

“We won’t give him the chance, Professor.” Hermione tightened her grip on his arm.

Harry didn’t know whether to be irritated or grateful that his friends were not going to give him the chance to go alone. The last thing he wanted was to put his best friends in more danger, but somehow he had known since his first year that their trio would always stick together. Ron and Hermione had been with him every time, even if circumstances had brought him to face Voldemort on his own in the end. It would be the same this time: he knew they would do what they could to protect his back and save Severus as he faced his destiny.

hpsshpsshpsshpss

The next hour was nerve-racking, and Harry did those things that he thought would prepare him for the coming battle. He changed his robes, layering skintight vest and jeans with the dueling robes that had been charmed to repel most simple hexes, and slicked back his now shoulder-length hair and tied it securely at the nape of his neck. A nutrition potion would fuel his body, and a vial of Pepper-Up potion was stashed in an inner pocket of his robes. Ron and Hermione had changed as well, getting ready with him. None of them spoke, and Harry tried not to focus on the pain filtering through the bond as he tracked the torture Severus was enduring. 

The Cruciatus Curse had always been one of Voldemort’s favorites, Harry knew. The evil bastard was using it sparingly on the former Death Eater, and the he was growing frustrated by Severus’ refusal to give him any information. Harry closed his eyes and opened the portal just enough for his bond-mate to know he was there, and fed more strength to him as Severus writhed on the floor of the dilapidated Riddle Manor. The high-pitched, cold laughter that had filled so many nightmares over the years sent chills of fear down Harry spine; he knew with certainty that the next spell cast from the bastard’s yew wand would be the Killing Curse.

“It’s time,” Harry announced quietly, summoning his invisibility cloak.

A silver otter shot through the wall as both Ron and Hermione pressed against him underneath the shimmering fabric, and Harry pulled the medallion Severus had given him for his birthday out from beneath his robes, activating the emergency portkey. The three best friends, wands in hand, clung to each other as the portkey gave a familiar tug and they disappeared.

hpsshpsshpsshpss

Severus Snape lay crumpled on the threadbare carpet of what once was an elegant parlor, gasping for breath in the aftermath of another round of cursing. The Dark Lord had found the antidote to the Polyjuice Potion in his pocket when he arrived unceremoniously, courtesy of Percy Weasley. The insipid Ministry lackey seemed a perfect foil to the simpering Peter Pettigrew, both of whom stood near the throne-like armchair the Dark Lord now occupied. Other Death Eaters formed a semi-circle around him, most concealed in the shadows of the dimly lit room.

“You disappoint me, Severus,” the Dark Lord said softly, Nagini curled around his feet. “You, who have been my most trusted servant, who have enjoyed a place at my side, were actually betraying me at every turn. I resisted all of the suspicion, all of Bellatrix’s insane paranoia about your true loyalties; I pointed to your unhesitant execution of Albus Dumbledore as a sign of your commitment only to find you are, indeed, a traitor.”

Struggling to his feet, Severus staggered a step before pulling himself up. “And you accept the word of a Weasley that this information is true, my lord? Especially _this_ Weasley, an ambitious twit who kowtows to the Minister of Magic, and would stop at nothing to get ahead?”

Percy Weasley scoffed nervously. Reptilian scarlet eyes stared at Severus, and he could feel the push of magic against his mental shields. Reinforced with Harry’s magic, the shields held against the intense intrusion, and pain ripped through Severus’ head, not unlike the pain his bond-mate used to endure in his scar, and the Potions master knew that the time had come. The Dark Lord no longer cared about any possible tie to Harry; he was going to kill Severus for being a traitor to the pure-blood cause. If that affected Harry in some peripheral way, then all the better, but Severus knew he would not walk out of the dingy room again. He stood tall, although shakily, in front of the monster, not willing to show any further deference to him.

Severus felt a shift in the magic in the room, but he gave no outward sign as he continued to resist the painful Occlumency as Voldemort focused his attention on breaking through his barriers. 

_We are here, Severus,_ came a whisper through the link, and it was a struggle not to show the mixture of dread and relief that coursed through him.

An audible gasp came from somewhere behind him, and the Occlumency spell lifted as Voldemort looked away. Severus did not take his eyes off the evil wizard as he locked his knees to remain standing, knowing what was to come. He threw a quick look at a dumbfounded Peter Pettigrew, calculating just what it would take to retrieve Dumbledore's wand, which was held tightly in the rat's hand.

hpsshpsshpsshpss

“Potter!” Voldemort hissed as Harry stepped from underneath the invisibility cloak. 

Ron let out an involuntary gasp at the sight of his brother. Severus was on his feet, his arms held loosely at his side. Stepping away from where his friends were still cloaked, Harry did a slow turn, surveying the room. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as he took in the dozen or so Death Eaters that filled the room, but Harry had faith in the fact that Voldemort’s ego would demand he kill Harry himself.

“Hello, Tom,” Harry said softly, remembering the tactics Albus Dumbledore had used in the duel at the Ministry of Magic.

The scarlet eyes glowed blood-red as Voldemort reacted to the name he hated, and spinning to one side, he threw a series of curses and hexes at Harry, who dodged the first and blocked the rest. They circled around each other in the center of the room. Everyone else was wise enough to step back.

“It seems our dear Severus has made more progress that I had thought, Potter. Come to rescue your lover?” Voldemort sneered, lazily casting several hexes in quick succession.

Parrying two and barely sidestepping another, Harry continued to move back and forth, ignoring everyone else in the room. “I have come to fulfill the prophecy, Tom, and rid our world of your filth.”

“ _Crucio!_ ”

The spell hit Harry a glancing blow as he tried to turn away; for a moment, liquid fire ran through his body. Spinning around, Harry closed his eyes and Apparated across the room. He was panting against the pain that still coursed through him, force of will keeping the shakiness from his wand hand.

“ _Levicorpus!_ ”

The spell caught Voldemort off guard, and he was flipped into the air before he could counter it, landing back on his feet with an enraged roar. Harry cast a silent Sectumsempra, the edge of which caught the Dark wizard in the thigh as he spun to avoid it. Dark greenish-red blood seeped out of the gash, but Harry did not stop moving to watch. Severus had moved back to the edge of the rug, where the ring of Death Eaters stood watching, their white masks glowing eerily in the torchlight. Every one of the black-robed figures held a wand, but none made a move to interfere with the duel. A stunner hit Harry in the chest as he swung back toward Voldemort, and he was slammed to the ground. 

“You filthy half-blood! Do you really believe you can best the greatest wizard who ever lived?” Voldemort moved toward him as Harry scrambled to his feet.

“Albus Dumbledore was the greatest wizard who ever lived,” Harry shot back as him as he moved out of the way, willing his head to stop spinning. “You forget that you are a half-blood as well, Tom, just like I am! Except that my mother didn’t have to trick my father into loving her like yours did!”

Infuriated, Voldemort whirled and disappeared, only to reappear near Severus, standing just outside of Peter Pettigrew reach. “You are worthless and weak-minded, Potter, a slave to the love Dumbledore always touted as stronger that magic itself! I can guarantee that your vaunted love will be the death of you! _Avada Kedavra!_ "

The green spell-light burst from the end of his wand, and Harry’s heart stopped. His feet propelled him toward his bond-mate, but he knew he would never reach Severus in time. Suddenly, Pettigrew surged forward, his small, watery eyes fixed on Harry’s face as he stepped into the path of the Killing Curse and repaid his life-debt. The lifeless body fell; Dumbledore’s wand dropped at Severus’ feet, and Harry saw that he quickly Summoned it, concealing it in his disheveled robes, as Voldemort exploded with rage. Ducking another series of hexes and spells, Harry dove toward Severus, knowing that Ron and Hermione would be nearby, waiting for their cue to join the fight. Harry conjured a shield around himself. It was time.

Several Death Eaters struck by Voldemort's randomly cast curses had dropped to the floor and were writhing in pain. Percy Weasley, wand in hand, seemed undecided about what to do. Harry used the confusion to begin chanting the soul reunification spell in Parseltongue. He kept it low, muttering under his breath. Hissing seemed to fill the room for several long seconds, and the audience of Death Eaters shifted uneasily. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Hermione and Ron slip out from under the cloak. The witch pressed into Severus’ hand a vial that Harry hoped was the potion to counter the effects of the Cruciatus. Just a few seconds more!

“It will not work, Potter! Do you think I would not have ensured that I will live on no matter what you do?” 

Hermione stepped from where she was sheltered by Severus. “We have located the Horcruxes….”

Voldemort reacted visibly to her words; his wand arm flung out and purple spell-light hit Harry with a curse that tore through the shield to slam into his chest. Struggling for breath, Harry finished the incantation and drew on the magical reserve inside him as he completed the complicated wand motion and flung the spell over what was left of Tom Marvolo Riddle. A shudder ran through the Dark wizard, and the reptilian, slotted pupils widened before he turned, casting another spell at Severus Snape.

“ _Avada Kedavra!_ ”

The reunification spell ripped the slices of Tom Riddle’s soul from the necklace around his neck and the snake wrapped around her master’s feet. In the blink of an eye, the pieces slammed into the last vestige of organic human flesh in the evil wizard, which imploded under the sheer power Harry put behind it. Barely standing, Harry watched the green light again shoot out of the pale wand. Fueled by the terror he felt, he pivoted, the Parseltongue shielding incantation on his lips before he could give it a conscious thought, pouring all his love as well as the last of his magic into it. The Killing curse hit the protective shield Harry franticly threw up around Hermione and Severus, and the backlash threw him hard against the wall. As he spiraled into the darkness that beckoned, Harry saw the eerie green spell-light rebound and envelope what remained of Lord Voldemort’s corpral form as he slid into the blackness.

hpsshpsshpsshpss

“Harry!”

Severus lurched to his feet from where the shockwave of magic had thrown him and stumbled to where Harry lay slumped against the wall. Percy Weasley knocked him off his feet with a shove of his hand. Eyes wide with panic, Percy took in the Death Eaters who had crumpled to the floor as Lord Voldemort had died, his body transformed into a pile of dust on the floor. Severus staggered, but righted himself as he hit the wall, taking a stand in front of Harry. 

“Get away from him, Snape! I am going to make him regret ever—”

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ” Ron Weasley’s voice was firm as he cast the spell on his brother, then magically bound him and collected his wand. “Bloody prat! Have you any idea what you have put Mum and Dad through?” the redhead yelled as he kicked at Percy’s legs. 

“Ron!” Hermione admonished as she dropped to her knees to check on Harry.

A prickle of magic washed across Severus’ skin and he stood straighter, ignoring the dizziness that assaulted him. “The wards have fallen.”

Ron and Hermione moved to stand in front of him, Harry sheltered between them, but before any Aurors or Order members could appear, the room was thrown into bitter cold. The black swirling shapes of Dementors appeared, seemingly from nowhere, most going straight for the unconscious Death Eaters on the floor. Severus had to look away as the closest grabbed a white-masked face and began to suck out the witch’s soul through the mask. Silver streaks took the forms of an otter and terrier, sweeping out to drive the creatures back. Focusing his mind on the love he saw on Harry’s face when they were together, Severus conjured his own Patronus to join the fray. Despair pulled at him as more of the figures clustered around, until the tenacious little terrier circled the closest and herded it backwards. The other Patronuses joined in and chased the Dementors from the room.

Sagging, Severus felt his knees start to give way just as Rufus Scrimgeour burst into the room, flanked by Kingsley Shacklebolt and Remus Lupin. A slender arm, its deceptive strength immediately apparent, slid around his waist and braced him. Scrimgeour's eyes swept the floor, littered as it was with bodies, hesitating over the pile of dust before they landed on him.

“Snape!” 

The name was spat at him, as if it were something vile and revolting. Something snapped inside of Severus, and he pulled away from Hermione’s arm.

“Scrimgeour,” he snapped out, “Harry has done your dirty work for you, and you will pardon me if I am not up for a lengthy dissertation at the moment. No amount of reasoning will work on a man who refuses to use that higher thought process. I ask only that someone summon Madam Pomfrey immediately, before you allow your savior to die.”

Severus ignored the gasps and the sputtering from the Minister of Magic, sinking down to sit beside his bond-mate and drawing Harry’s head into his lap. The bond had told him that Harry was still breathing, but little else, and the absolute stillness of the teenager was frightening. He tuned out the shouting that erupted over his head, noting absently that Hermione Granger held her own nicely in the battle of words and stood over them like a lioness protecting her cubs. Heedless of the audience, Severus stroked Harry’s hair slowly, his tenuous grip on consciousness slipping. Minutes or hours later, he was not sure which, a familiar hand cupped his cheek and gently disentangled his hand to wrap something around it. The tug of a portkey, and Severus gave up his struggle, allowing the darkness to swallow him.

hpsshpsshpsshpss

It was to a cool, silent room that Severus awoke, and he kept his eyes closed as awareness slowly returned. His first thought was that he was in Azkaban, but a rustle next to the bed reassured him. Severus could not move his arm, but the familiar tingle of magic made its way to his brain, and told him that it was wrapped around Harry. Slowly, his senses aligned and reconnected with his mind, making Severus aware of a dull, aching throb in various parts of his body and the warm weight of his bond-mate pressed against him.

“Severus? I know you’re awake.”

Minerva McGonagall’s brogue was more pronounced when she was tired or upset, and Severus immediately opened his eyes. They were in the dungeon rooms that he and Harry had been sharing. A wave of relief swept through him. The Headmistress waved up the candles, allowing Severus to see the lack of sleep etched into the lines of her face. His grip on Harry tightened, and Severus glanced at him as the younger man stirred in his arms.

“Poppy believes that given time, he will be fine, Severus, as will you. Harry exhausted his magic, which was to be expected, but the curse he took to the chest was particularly nasty, and will have to be watched. She has kept both of you in a healing sleep for the past three days, which allowed the worst of your injuries to heal.” There was an Albus-like twinkle in the witch’s eyes. “This, fortunately, has allowed you to miss all the turmoil the Scrimgeour has caused, as well as the celebration that is going on everywhere.”

“What happened?” Severus asked softly, his voice still raspy. 

“It seems that you were correct, and the Dark Mark did connect He Who—Voldemort with his followers in such a manner that he was able to siphon off their magical power. When he died, the resulting surge in magic incapacitated every one of the Death Eaters. The Aurors were able to capture most of them before they regained consciousness.”

“Only the ones they were aware of,” Severus countered scathingly as he accepted a goblet of water Minerva handed him, ignoring the older woman's attempt at a stern glare.

“Not all of the Aurors are inept, Severus,” she told him with a sniff. 

Harry stirred again as Severus drank deeply from the goblet, savoring the cool, refreshing liquid. He drank his fill before leaning towards the bedside table to set the goblet down. There was a gasp as he drew away, and Harry’s hands clutched at Severus franticly. Dropping the goblet, Severus wrapped his arms around Harry tightly, trying to reassure the teenager.

“Sev… Devon?” The emerald eyes struggled to open, and his tone was desperate. “Is… is it over? Is everyone all right?” 

“Just Severus, my Harry,” Severus said in a soothing voice, as Minerva stepped over to help him reposition Harry. “Minerva is just advising me what has transpired in the three days we have been unconscious.”

Harry took a sip as the Headmistress held the goblet steady, then sank back into the comfort of Severus’ side. Relieved that his bond-mate had awoken, Severus leaned back on the pillows and wrapped his arms around the young man. Harry’s head rested on his shoulder, and Severus frowned slightly at how warm his skin felt. His eyes closed, Harry snuggled closer, one hand coming up to rest on Severus’ chest, directly over his heart. 

“That barrister Harry found has done a wonderful job securing your pardon, Severus, as well as an Order of Merlin, first class, for uncommon bravery. In fact, Aileene was magnificent when the Minister of Magic implied that you might have Harry under some type of Imperius Curse!” The Headmistress snorted with amusement. “I haven’t seen anyone give such a scathing dressing down without ever raising their voice since your last encounter with Cornelius Fudge, which is why I immediately hired her to represent Hogwarts.”

A smile tugged at Severus’ lips as he listened to the witch launch into a colorful description of the aftermath of the battle and Rufus Scrimgeour’s reaction to his junior assistant’s true loyalties. Poppy Pomfrey appeared and quietly went about checking them both, without disturbing Harry, who dozed off and on as the Headmistress spoke. The younger man was uncharacteristically subdued as he roused himself enough to take several potions for the mediwitch, and snickered quietly at Severus’ protests when handed his to drink. Sleep tugged at him as Minerva continued her running monologue, and Severus succumbed to its pull as the Headmistress spoke.

hpsshpsshpsshpss

Ronald Weasley sat next to their bed, his head in his hands, the next time Severus awoke. Harry’s head was cushioned on Severus’chest. Hermione lay dozing on the bed on Harry’s other side, one hand resting possessively on his mate’s arm. Severus blinked as he focused on what he saw, a forceful reminder that he was the outsider with this trio. Harry might be bonded with him for life, but it did not mean they had to remain together, especially now that Harry’s task was completed.

“You really don’t want to know where that hand usual rests.” Weasley’s voice was filled with amusement, and Severus felt a stab of jealousy at the easy intimacy the three teenagers shared. 

“I am perfectly capable of taking care of Harry on my own, Mr. Weasley, if you would like to remove your fiancée. I have no need for your further assistance.”

Severus refused to look at the redhead, knowing he would see relief in the teenager’s eye. He focused on Harry’s tousled hair as he heard the chair next to the bed creak. This would be the first move in making it easier for Harry to gain his freedom, to leave Severus behind as he sought a life in the world beyond this room. His heart throbbed painfully at the thought of being alone again, but Severus had come to love Harry too deeply to hold him back. The bed dipped beside him, and Severus looked up in surprise as the youngest Weasley son sat next to him.

“You great, greasy git!” The redhead attempted to scowl, but it came across more like a grimace. “You should know that this strategy won’t work on us any more! You are not going to push either Hermione or me away, mate, and I don’t want to be a witness to what will happen if you try it with Harry.“

The look on the young man’s face was entirely too reminiscent of his formidable mother and Severus fought to urge to squirm. He opened his mouth to give a brilliantly scathing retort when Ron's eyes narrowed, and he hesitated. What had happened to the Gryffindor hothead he had intimidated and terrorized for six years?

“Severus,” —Ron didn’t even flinch as said his name!— “so much has happened in the past few months, we have been through too much together not to have gotten to know what you are really like. You have shown yourself to be a man of courage and honor; you are my best mate’s… er, husband, I suppose. Please don’t do something that is going to rip his heart out.”

Severus stared at him. When had Ronald Weasley matured into this reasonable young man? He felt at a loss for words as he accepted a goblet of water from the redhead. 

“I am concerned about what is best for Harry; I doubt that he ever envisioned spending his life tied to… someone like me.” 

“Even if you are the one he wants?” Hermione Granger had awoken at some point in the conversation, and she moved to sit against the headboard. “Would it hurt to ask Harry what he wants before you make an arbitrary decision that will devastate both of you?”

Severus felt his chest tighten at the very thought of life without Harry, should the young man decide to move on. A wave of sorrow washed through him, making the breath catch in his tight chest, and the arm wrapped around Harry tightened. There was a twitch in the bond that had lain quiet since the duel with Voldemort, and Severus remembered the night they had bonded. The look on Harry's face when Severus had mentioned that wizards were capable of carrying children surfaced with amazing clarity, and he knew immediately what would make his mate happy.

“Harry would like a family,” he announced quietly. “A family to love, and who will love him back.”

Severus refused to look at the young woman, as he knew she would be beaming at him, and he would have to say something scathing. Weasley, at least, had a sense of self-preservation and just nodded. A definite feeling of amusement filtered through from Harry, and Severus closed his eyes in relief as the bond slowly came alive again. His mate, it would seem, was awake and listening, the rapscallion. Despite the audience, Severus leaned down and rested his cheek on the soft, tousled hair.

“In that case, perhaps Mr. Potter should be the one to ask me to marry him,” he said with as much arrogance as his position allowed.

“Prat!” Harry rasped out weakly, finally opening his eyes. “I asked last time!"

hpsshpsshpsshpss

**Epilogue:**

Harry Potter-Snape smiled at the scene that greeted him as he stepped onto the wide porch. Severus’ dark hair stood out in the throng of redheads who gathered on the front lawn of the house in Godric’s Hollow. The small almost-bald head buried in his husband’s shoulder belonged to their newborn goddaughter, Megan Granger-Weasley. The tall man appeared comfortable cradling the sleeping baby as he watched his ‘in-laws’ taking care of the other children. Harry had to grin; he was sure that Severus had never stopped to consider that Molly Weasley would become his self-appointed mother-in-law when they married four years ago, but Severus had handled it well. He and Hermione both maintained that Megan would have brown hair, having already ‘circumvented the Weasley predilection for boys’, as Hermione announced smugly. Harry did so love to listen to Severus when he was on a verbal rampage.

“Uncle Harry!” 

Bill and Fleur’s four-year-old son hurtled across the lawn toward him. Harry stepped off the porch to scoop him up, the strawberry-blond hair a fiery halo against the setting sun as Harry twirled him around. Young Jean Luc squealed and spread his arms as if flying. The sheer delight of the little one was contagious and Harry laughed with him, catching the indulgent look on Fleur’s lovely face. Her hand rested on her swollen belly. Harry carried Jean to her; with a final hug, he handed over the little boy to her, leaning closer to kiss Fleur and run a soft hand over the baby boy she carried.

“You look wonderful, Fleur,” Harry told her with a smile, anticipation curling in his stomach.

Fleur kissed him back with a smile. “You are such a flatterer, ‘Arry!”

Harry just grinned as Fleur moved away to join her husband and his parents, watching the graceful sway of her body as she walked. Soon, if everything went as planned, Harry would look like that, definitely not as graceful, but hopeful just as rounded. Last night, as they had done five years ago, he and Severus had done a magical cleansing of their bodies. As midnight heralded the arrival of his twenty-second birthday, Harry had taken a specialized Polyjuice Potion that had Severus had brewed, based on notes found in Salazar Slytherin’s journal and containing a lock of Lily Potter’s hair, preserved over the years by Piat. It turned out the house-elf had a talent with hair and had cut Lily’s when the Potters had gone into hiding.

The brush of gentle fingers against his cheek drew his attention, and Harry looked up into the dark eyes of his husband. The lines of tension that had once been etched into Severus’ face were gone, and the harsh angles had softened slightly as he had learned to live a life free of Voldemort. The Potions master had left Hogwarts at the completion of Harry's seventh year, immersing himself in the research and development of healing potions. While Harry had attended University, gaining his mastery in the healing arts, his husband had worked to perfect the Wolfsbane Potion and pored over the writings of Slytherin. Many of the potions the Hogwarts founder had created to help his son deal with his shattered soul had turned out to have other healing abilities. 

“Are you feeling all right?” Severus’ asked quietly, carefully transferring the sleeping infant to Harry.

Settling the small body into the crook of his arm, Harry smiled at his husband. The magical cleansing had been painful for both of them; even after four years, they had still carried residual Dark magic from the final battle with Voldemort. Harry had ultimately passed out from the pain in his chest. It was the one injury that continued to plague him, making him susceptible to cold air and breathing problems. Severus had found a potion that helped, but Harry had to be careful not to over-exert himself.

“I’m fine, love,” Harry said with a smile, tracing a gently fingertip along his goddaughter’s cheek. “More that fine, really.” He looked up with a crooked grin. “Ecstatic.” 

A smile tugged at Severus’ lips, and Harry snuggled into the arm he slid around his waist. The special Polyjuice Potion had not made any obvious outward changes to Harry’s body, but it had rearranged his internal organs to accommodate the womb and ovaries he had grown. A set of female genitalia formed between his scrotum and anus which felt a bit different, but did not hurt at all. The baby wiggled in his arms, and dark blue eyes blinked open, staring at him intently.

“I think my daughter is going to want her dinner soon,” Hermione announced as she appeared to reclaim the infant.

Severus and Harry kissed both of them, and waved to Ron as the three Apparated back to Grimmauld Place. With all of them working in London, Ron and Hermione shared the house with Remus and Tonks, who were finally getting married at the end of August. A flurry of goodbyes followed: Ginny, still unattached, had just completed her mastery in Defense Against the Dark Arts; the twins, who had just opened their fifth store; Charlie, with his fiancé, Paul. Molly fussed over them, making Harry almost giggle at the stoic expression on Severus’ face. Arthur was quiet, much quieter now than he had been before Percy subjected him to the Imperious Curse and memory charms, and allowed Molly to speak for them both.

Dobby appeared as soon as the Weasleys had gone, beginning the clean-up of Harry’s birthday celebration. Nerel and Tinky had been delighted when Dobby had begun to show an interest in Piat, calming some of the house-elf’s exuberance. The four managed to take care of him and Severus, and the younger couple traveled with them between houses, while the older couple maintained Potter Manor. Every once in a while, Harry remembered the discovery of Kreacher’s body on the grounds of Hogwarts just days after the final duel with Voldemort, and wondered how much of a role Dobby had in his death. 

“Come,” Severus said, extending his hand, “I have a burning desire to procreate.”

Harry smiled up at his husband as he took his hand, the warmth of the July evening held in check but the gentle breeze that wrapped around them. As they walked arm in arm into the house, Harry could feel the love that vibrated between them, and sighed. The first half of his life, the years spent with the Dursleys, has been devoid of any kindness or love, and Harry had always dreamed he would find someone to love him. Harry’s dreams paled in comparison to the reality of love he had found in the last five years. He was happy with his life. 

Following Severus into their bedroom, Harry stepped into the older man’s embrace and lost himself in the reaffirmation of that love.

* * *


End file.
